


Gotham's Talon

by TheOnlyHuman



Series: AU: Deep Claws [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (so far) - Freeform, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bat Family, Batcave, Batfamily Feels, Blood and Torture, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is different from Batman, Bruce is nice normally but a bit mean when in the cowl, Court of Owls, Dark Past, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dick Grayson speaks Romani, Established Barry Allen/Iris West, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Female Dick Grayson, Female Talon Dick Grayson, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, Kalderash Romani, Mild Language, Rachel Wayne - Freeform, Rated For Violence, Romani Character, Romani Dick Grayson, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Wayne Enterprises, Wayne Manor, now i just need to find the google translate for it, pls help, update
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 53,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyHuman/pseuds/TheOnlyHuman
Summary: (1995-2001.)It is up to a bird to make its own nest.But what of a bat, what abode do bats abide by?--Or:The very beginning of the Bat family, starting with Rachel. (Female Dick.)Second book in series, "Desirous Revenge" is this one's sequel.





	1. The Bat and The Owl

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own DC.
> 
> You can expect random updates.

 

   
The first sign of trouble came on a soft, quiet January night. It had been relatively lazy, with most people staying indoors at the most recent flurry of snow and foreshadowed snowstorm set to hit in nine hours.

Surveying his City from a parapet of Wayne Tower, he let himself smirk in the self-satisfaction of a job well done. He'd managed to take out Croc in ten minutes for the first time, and that alone had scared off any straggling wanna-be's.

Batman (superpowerless, gadget aided Batman) had singlehandedly taken down Killer Croc like he was nothing more than a back alley thug. He couldn't wait to see tomorrow's newspaper's front page.

A sharp glint caught his eye as he turned his head to cast his gaze further, at what he thought was a crack in one of the gargoyles' ears.

Stomach twisting and shrivelling like he'd digested something _very bad_ , Bruce let out a slow breath. The temperature had dropped, his warm exhalation turning into a white misty cloud at contact with the air.

Whatever was causing the glint was faraway but near enough that he could see it dauntingly. Doubtless, if he turned now his stalker would know he knew and flee.

So he waited, appearing to survey his City once more as his trackers and heat sensors locked onto the figure.

Becuase that was what it was. A lanky, shadow infested thing that was hiding between the gap of the twelfth and fourteenth floors. On the sealed thirteenth floor that practically no-one knew about.

Bruce knew his great-great grandfather, Alan Wayne, had succumbed to great paranoia in his later years. He'd raved about birds chasing him and had _hated_ anything to do with thirteen. Apparently, he'd claimed it was when he was going to die. He'd been the one to have the floor sealed.

Ironically, he'd died on December 13th, late nineteenth century.

Heat signatures showed nothing other than the hunched thing. Both a good sign and bad. Bruce wondered if it wanted to kill or just spy on him.

//There seems to be a small mugging in the alley between sixth and ninth avenue, sir.\\\ Alfred interrupted.

Nervous to leave, Bruce grunted a response and grappled away. When he was heading home an hour later he swung back around the Tower. The thing was gone, the area was colder than ever and the Thirteenth Floor was securely sealed.

 

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Twelve days later, dodging a rolling can of Joker’s laughing gas, Batman ignored but filed away the glint of knives hiding in the shadows just to his left incase they (or, _it_ ) attacked any time soon.

Thirty minutes later, with an unconscious Joker lying at his feet, Batman looked over to the shadowed alley which had held the glint of knives but found nothing but garbage and rats staring back out at him.

 

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The third time he'd seen it he'd gotten the full image of what it was. A dagger, embellished with a golden owl-shaped hilt. It was pinned through a local druggies chest, keeping him against the wall.

He'd been dead for hours.

His heart ripped out, tongue shoved down his throat.

 

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Nineteen days later, Batman thought that grappling from building to building made him feel a certain ounce of adrenaline he didn't feel as Bruce Wayne.

Maybe that was why he enjoyed being a vigilante so much, or maybe it was the satisfaction he got when he took down a particularly hard enemy or maybe it was the thrill of something new happening.

Like the knife with a golden owl embroidered handle that flew out from nowhere and suddenly cut his line in half. It sent his adrenaline higher than grappling ever could. Although, it left him free falling for a few feet before he got over his shock and pulled out his other grapple and, with a grunt, hooked onto the next building.

He saw the knife embed itself in the dark grey wall of the building his line had been adjacent with and made a mental note to get it later because suddenly Alfred’s voice came over the Comm to say Scarecrow was laughing about some master plan outside Gotham City PD and Commissioner Gordon was five minutes away from an aneurysm.

When he returned, two hours later with Scarecrow knocked out and on his merry way to Arkham, (supposed 'master plan' successfully averted and stopped) the knife was gone. Nothing but a thin hollow hole in the dusty bricks to say that it had ever been there.

 

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

He seen it a fifth time, on a brisk spring evening.

This time he went after it, catching it by surprise as it jerked and scrambled away, throwing a few more daggers which his cape only just deflected.

It lunged at him, sharp long claws expanded and reaching out for him, so naturally he pulled him his cape to shield himself. When nothing but the wind made the cape flutter he pulled it down to find the dirty rooftop of the building he'd ended up upon. Nothing else.

 

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Batman never did explore the sealed thirteenth floor or that shadow any further, until he found it was too late.

Now, as Bruce Wayne stiffened at the feather light tap of a blade on his neck, he wished Batman had paid more attention to it. Suddenly, without the fluttering of overturned papers (courtesy of his desk that had been tipped in his surprise) his personal study seemed eerily silent. Expect, of course, for Bruce’s heartbeat in his ears.

Now, Bruce Wayne stared down the gold and black armoured thing standing just behind him, only visible by its reflection in his window. He inwardly cursed.

By all appearances it looked deadly, from the sharp golden claws to its pointed goggle tips that sat on its horrifying mask.

Bruce was pretty sure it was an assassin. He wasn't too worried about that though, he'd dealt with his fair share of them (Ra's and Talia being two easy to name ones). What was worrying was that this one (unnamed to his annoyance) had gotten past over twelve layers of decrypted security codes, multiple cameras and too many other things to make him happy.

 **"** _Bruce Wayne,"_ The voice was hoarse and raspy but if he searched it, Bruce swore he could hear a feminine lilt hiding just under the surface layer of growl.  _"You've interfered. The Court sentences you to death."_

Bruce tried to shift, to do anything, something, but he froze when the thing hissed in warning. He wasn't even sure if it was human. It certainly didn't look it, all gaudy gold and black armour, a goggled mask that seemed to pierce into his soul. He had no idea how this thing had snuck up on him.

He felt and seen the thing behind him tilt its head. He realised it was, quite possibly, enjoying this.

The sardonic lick to the voice confirmed his suspicions and he rethought his plan of not hitting the panic button - he could, at least, warn them but they probably wouldn’t understand till it was too late for them. _"Last words, Bat?"_

Bruce suddenly felt sick,  _if this thing knew who he was then-- he'd worked so hard to--_

It must've seen his panic for it let out a maniac cackle that made him shiver and seemed to rock back and forth on its feet as it playfully hushed him, running a cold, slim ( if was definitely female) hand down his cheek.  **"** _Hush, hush. No tell, no tell. Words?"_

He swallowed carefully, mindful of the knife that was suddenly pressed harder against his pale throat, and pushed down the surging panic and fear that was threatening to show. “What are you?” He felt like it was the best question, even if he could've worded it better.

The thing's thinly veiled twitch almost rammed the knife into his exposed flesh.

He made a metal note that his antagonist couldn't take antagonism. Out if the corner of his eye he realised he could just about make out the handle of the dagger.

It had an embroidered golden owl. He mentally frowned, that was the exact same knife that had cut Batman's line not three weeks ago and the one that had been in the druggies corpse.

 **"** _Talon_ **."**  Talon seemed giddy now and Bruce deduced that this ‘Talon’ wasn't in the best mental place. What disturbed him more was that Talon seemed to coo like an owl before speaking again.

_"_ _Beware the Court of Owls._

_Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch,_

_Behind granite and lime._

_Watch yourself,_

_Or they may come._

_For they lurk under your bed_

_And in your head._

_Beware the Court of Owls,_

_Else_ _they'll send the Talon for your head."_

And then Talon was gone. Vanished with the echo of a cold, harsh cackle. Nothing but a wisp of wind left behind in his otherwise empty study.

Suddenly, Bruce was very happy that Alfred was on holiday.

_Seems that the Court of Owls isn't as much a fairytale as Gotham thinks it to be._

He made a beeline for the Cave. Maybe it was time to update security.

 

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The next time Talon showed up, Batman and Bruce were both ready.

The thing had decided to lurk in his mansion’s shadows while it subtly stalked him and upon seeing the tell-tale swish and glint of metal Bruce had went into Batman mode. Idly pulling a Batarang from his belt - after feeling a brief surge of thankfulness he'd decided to keep a few in his civvies - Bruce bent his knees and swished around in a circle, shouting. “Come out, now!”

The far corners shadow twitched and black clothed arms with golden punches of armour here and there raised weakly, before Talon came out of the shadows, hunched over as if it were about to drop dead.  **"** _Bat o...or Bruce?"_

Bruce thought the question over quickly, confusion surging through him at the mere sight of the assassin. “Bru--”

He was cut off as it winced.  **"** _Bat. Be Bat. We no kill.. no.."_  Talon broke off into a coughing fit as its arms hurled down back to its body. One to its mouth and the other to its side. It took a sickening gasp of air that made everything in the room freeze.  _"..no kill Bat. Forced to.. Wayne."_

 _It was injured._  Bruce realised with startling accuracy and everything fell into place. In the Talon’s mind, Bruce Wayne and Batman were different people and it had only been told to kill one, not the other. “Yes, I'm Batman.” He said, taking on his persona’s gravelly voice for extra effect. He felt a tidbit of satisfaction when Talon sighed and slumped, leaning against the wall as it slid down it to sit on the floor.

It pulled its goggled mask off to reveal a young girl. She was far too pale to be safe, with blackened veins running up the sides of her face that disappeared down the collar of her suit, down her neck. Her unruly golden eyes were slitted tiredly.

Mouth opening in a silent gasp for air, she froze, body _vibrating_ as she suddenly started coughing like she'd popped a lung. Her once limp arm swerved up to cover her mouth, eyes widening slightly. Bruce swore mentally, spotting a trickle of black blood dribble down to her chin while she plopped her head onto the wall, looking exhausted and older than her years.

_He had to help her._

Raising his arms he slowly stalked forward. “I can help you,” He made sure to speak softly as to not scare her but it didn't seem as if she was listening to him anymore anyway. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She rolled her head to the side where she gave him a tilted, sickly stare.  **"** _Court angry. Failed to kill..."_ She broke off into a cough that forced her hand to her mouth again. She stared at it miserably when she stopped and pulled it back, licking the black blood from the line it had dribbled into.  **"** _Failed. Wayne target. Failed to execute. Court angry. So.. pain."_

Something clicked and Bruce swore mentally again, going into Bat mode. “Can I approach you?”

The girl glanced at him, unfocused eyes honing in on the only source of movement.

 **"** _Yess_ **."**  Her voice slurred differently from how it had been earlier and Batman stepped forward cautiously.

“What’s your name?”

She didn't even blink.  **"** _Talon_ **."**

For some reason pain welled up in his chest when the girl said that, but that wasn't what he wanted for an answer so he tried again. “What's your real name? _"_

This time she blinked fuzzily at him before her forehead creased in thought and she took on a pained look. 

 _"Don't... We don't..."_ Her head plopped down as she whined and Bruce felt sick that the girl didn't know who she  _was_. She didn't know her own  _name_.  **"** _Don't have. Don't have. Don't. No. Me Talon. Talon."_  Her eyes snapped open as she lurched forward. Her eyes glittered carmine as a manic glint filled them. She spluttered and slumped back against the wall, marking a trail of black blood down it.  **"** _Talon_ **."**

Avoiding the touchy subject Batman linked the information together.

She'd failed to kill Bruce Wayne. So, she'd went back to the Court and they had…  _punished_  her?

It wasn't much to go on, or make sense with her recent actions, but it was all he could link together right now with the evidence. “Will you heal?”

Her gasps for air suddenly stopped and her head tilted to the side in a mocking gesture as her mouth slid into a dangerous grin, showing off sharp canines. She gave a harsh cackle.  **"** _Run Bat for they have found you."_

Her voice turned raspy and hoarse, like the time she'd threatened Bruce Wayne. She started humming. " _Trapped Bat! Trapped Bat!"_

He didn't even get to process that before the window smashed inwards, too many Talons to count jumping through.

A scorching pain seared through his head and he seen darkness.


	2. Maze of Marble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I don't know how long Bats was stuck in the maze but since this isn't canon who cares? This chapter might also be a bit crazy and it jumps a lot so bare with me, the ones after this won't be as bad. Just have to set the scene. For what? I don't know.

 

He woke up face to face with a gleaming white floor that smelt like sewage.

His first thought to that was; _shit._ The second; _who the hell changed_ _me?_ Because he was wearing his batsuit and he was pretty sure he hadn't been before. That and it felt weird, like it had been tugged onto him rather than fitted on with the machines and skilful coaching from gauntleted hands.

_The window smashed inwards, too many Talons to count jumping through. Searing pain in_ _his head._ The female Talon had played him like a fiddle and he'd been clueless the entire time.

They'd knocked him out with a hit to the head if his headache said anything. Which meant he couldn't fall asleep anythime soon, just to be sure he didn't have a concussion. (He didn't think he'd be sleeping anytime soon anyway.)

His cowl was on and he felt safer with the Bat Computer connected lenses in it so he had no woes about standing and looking around himself. The lenses (they were in the cowls eyes but he was now also working on contacts to wear outside of the suit.) would analyse everything anyway (being connected to the Bat Computer as they were which fed them all the information they needed).

The lenses were working but without some sort of connection he was clueless as to where he was. They didn't need a connection to actually _work_ just to give information sourced from the computer. He could still use them to pick up on the smaller details.

He wasn't called a detective for nothing.

Judging from the distinct smell of sewage and the marble he assumed he was near (or, _in_ ) the sewers and far away from civilisation. The marble looked to stretch and twist for yards. He was in a maze. And if he had to make an educated guess, he guessed he was in the Court's Maze.

He knew that didn't bode well for him. If he didn't die of starvation or dehydration, insanity or a Talon would get him first. From his current track record he could safely say a Talon would probably get him first. (Possibly even _The Talon,_ the apparent leader of the assassins.)

The marble was bright but the sheen was dulled a tad by his lenses, allowing him to see a few feet into the adjoining corridors that extended out from the circular room he was in. It all seemed to be made out of white marble, with a huge statue of an owl standing in the middle of the eccentric room. It's wings were flared defensively and its beak opened to unleash a constant, steady stream of water that according to his lenses scans contained hallucinogenics.

He had actually been captured by _the_ Court of the Owls.

His instincts kicked and screamed at him, saying this wasn't a good idea to stand in the open. There was too much at stake to stand around where they could see him. He knew how to survive in shadows, he had been for years as Batman, so now was no different.

Setting off on the furthest passageway to the left, with his cape licking soothingly at his heels and wrapping around him, Batman resolved he'd get out of the labyrinth.

_Even if it killed him._

He had a city to save after all.

 

-/-/-

 

It didn't take him long - three days, if his lenses digital clock was true (he regretted not adding a date to the display as well, he'd add that _when_ he got back) - to find the room of photos.

It was a small boxy room. With walls lined with endless photos marking and showing the people before him, how they'd lost themselves to the insanity the fountain offered, how they lost their reasons to live and just gave up. It smelt of damp and death. It disturbed him and Batman had wandered onto the next corridor as soon as possible.

He tried to ignore the flash of light that came from another camera as he stalked out, it surprised him and had him slamming sidewards into the darkened corner.

A quick glance back had him seeing a second one for him pop up, the others had at least fifteen so he knew he was fine for now. They all looked to go insane around the ten or eleven day mark. Batman knew he'd last longer than that. He had to.

It was there and then, hunched in a darkened corner, Batman promised himself - if not for him, then for Alfred, Gotham, the Justice League (if it came down to it) - that he wouldn't die there.

 

-/-/-

 

Five days in he stumbled upon a fork in the current corridor he'd decided to explore. An arrow of black blood marked the way left.

_Blackish blood dribbled from her mouth._

Scowling, he turned around and explored the next corridor.

 

-/-/-

 

He felt like crying as he gazed at his reflection in the water. He'd torn his mask after falling over at the sudden surprise of a camera flash, his cape was torn and stretched after he'd caught it on a chipped piece of marble and the kevlar felt sweaty and smelt of stale sweat.

He looked like a druggie who'd went too long without a fix.

He looked like he'd fallen down a hole and had given up hope of climbing back out.

Batman wondered how long it had been. Was Alfred home yet? Or had Gotham already crashed and burned? Was this even real? He ended that train of thought where it was, narrowing his eyes at his depressing thoughts. He watched as his one white masked eye and other ripped, unmasked, bloodshot eye narrowed as one. The dehydration and starvation was getting to him.

His gaze drifted to just the rippling, sparkling clear water that was - _confirmed traces of hallucinogenics. WARNING: Do not drink._

God, he was so thirsty.

A little sip.

Just a little...

It couldn't hurt.

It wouldn't hurt, _surely not._

Just a _little._

He shoveled his gloved hands (he wouldn't dare let go of his gauntlets, not in this place) into the clear, clean water ( _oh god, yes!)_ and gulped it eagerly down, relishing the feeling of the cool water rushing down his _so, so_ dry throat. Done and feeling fine, he slinked off back to the shadows.

Where _they_ couldn't see him.

 

-/-/-

 

His great-grandfather, Alan Wayne, had went crazy in his later years, Bruce recalls at some point. The man had ranted and raved about seeing  _owls_ and them apparently nesting in his home despite pest removal being called multiple times and clearing the place out.

He'd been written off as insane and at a point he'd went missing. They found his body in the sewers, claiming the man had fallen down a manhole.

Bruce shivers at that point and doesn't dare think about it any longer.

 

-/-/-

 

He should've known ( _no,_ he thinks absently staring at a chip in the marble from his current shadow. _I knew. I just didn't care.)_ that the water was drugged because almost immediately after, he started seeing the hallucinations.

They started off as nothing more than brief flashing glimpses of Alfred, beckoning, calling (sometimes screaming, looking so pain stricken it physically hurt him to see) for him to come home but then they grew bigger. They grew and grew until he could see the Justice League tutting at him for failing so terribly, until he could see and hear his mother's pearls running down the sides of the scarcely lit corridors where he hid. They vanished down fake, made up drains in the walls or floors. That didn't stop the heart wrenching pain of the memories, it couldn't stop him as he growled at the surfaces and ( _sometimes just sometimes_ ) screamed and punched and kicked at them until he collapsed back into a corner.

He didn't like this.

Not one bit.

So, when he came across that now flaky and dried, black blood arrow, he stared at the direction it went in and sat down. He felt like he was waiting for something or someone but he didn't really care anymore. He just didn't want to walk into another room to be greeted with the flash of an ancient camera that should've stopped working years ago, to be reminded his pictures were nearly halfway. (He would've yanked them off the wall and burnt them but he'd already done that _three_ times and they kept coming back.)

All the pictures stopped at the same spot, which gave Batman a sick feeling because if his calculations were right (and they usually were) that meant no one had lasted over two months in this hell hole.

And that... That scared him.

He would've laughed at the irony of his throat wasn't screaming.

The Big Bad Bat was _scared_.

Scared to _die_.

Though he didn't dare tell himself he might, could, if he tried, live longer than the rest because he wasn't sure he wanted to.

 

-/-/-

 

He'd been there for over two and a half weeks. He wasn't too sure on that though. Batman had made it a point to mark off the days, about a day in, with tally marks in the underside of his gauntlet. He'd been dedicated too, watching the clock closely, setting timers, keeping notes for how long he napped. But somewhere a week in he'd gotten messy (it had been the water) and the scratches had all blurred into a big scratch. He'd given up after that.

Eventually he ran into the arrow again after too long of screaming at the cameras and going in circles. Deciding the worst that could happen was death (even that would be a blessing right about now) he followed it.

What it led to made him want to gag. It had to be the cruelest, most disturbing thing, yet. Far surpassing the flashes of light from cameras over 50 years old, running straight past the falling pearls and even worse than his horrifyingly dead looking reflection.

It led to death embodied.

A room of _coffins._

Batman felt his insides twist when he saw her. Sitting on a coffin at the far edge of the huge room close to the middle: pale skin with black veins standing out like light against the dark with the dead look in her cerulean blue eyes rivalling his own. It was the female Talon. Only now she looked worse, sick and tired and close to becoming suicidal, if not already.

Upon seeing him she perked up, tilting her head tiredly and standing and jolting in a poor mockery of a bow. He strode forward, meeting her dead on, a few feet from the oak coffin that sat with half of itself open. He assumed it was hers. (Disgust and anger boiled within him. That was just _wrong_. To make people, _even Talons_ , sleep in coffins. Utterly _disgusting._ )

He made no move to speak, waiting for her to react and after a few minutes she did. She blinked at him, her pupils contracting with hate as she hissed. "Weeks ago. The arrows were there, why'd you take so long?"

Batman blinked at her and winced when his bloodshot eyes gave a twinge of complaint. The coldness of the room didn't help, instead making them water. He couldn't flunk this, so he finally said after a moment of thought, "I was exploring my options."

The Talon gave him a look of dead amusement, her pupils expanding in postive emotions, but it was wiped from her face in an instant. She gazed at him blankly again. "We'll deal. You want free? We'll free you."

His insides contracted painfully and his stomach rumbled silently, sending vibrations through his weakening body. It reminded him how hungry he was, how he'd been surviving by drinking a pool of water he'd found in a dark corner only surviving disease by using his water purifying straw. Batman desperately wanted to agree but years of paranoia kept him back. She'd said it was a deal, that meant she wanted something out of it too. He doubted she was doing it from the good of her heart.

"What's your price?" He rasped. He really was desperate, he supposed. At this point he'd probably give up a limb. Which was either good planing on her behalf or just sheer luck he'd been this run down when he'd followed the damned arrow.

"Kill me after you fly."

He hadn't even taken a second to think, nevermind process that, before he was nodding. "Of course."


	3. Take me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone should have a home. Bruce agrees.

 

When Clark had gotten word of Bruce being attacked in his own house, he'd shot straight past scared for the Bat's wellbeing to honest-to-gosh _terrified._ If there was anything that could get past Batman's obsessive security measures it was something dangerous.

About a week into Bruce Wayne's kidnapping (of course Alfred had covered it up so that he'd conviently went on a business trip for possibly a few months so no one but he and the Founders knew. The only thing missing from the rouse was that there was no Batman and crime had climbed in Gotham) the Daily Planet caught news of the Drake's holding a fancy fundraiser ball that somehow they'd been cleared for one of their reporters to go to. Siezing the opportunity like a lifeline, Clark's editor had sent him, claiming he'd been _shifty_ lately and needed some air.

Finding it the perfect opportunity to go see Alfred as plain old _Clark Kent, The Daily Planet reporter_ , he went. It had been fancy, extravagant and loud but he felt he'd handled it well. Especially when a young, inexperienced waiter had dropped the six layer celebrationary cake that had no doubt cost a fortune that Bruce would've scoffed at had he been there (and he would've been _. Everyone_ invited Bruce Wayne.) In the end, Mrs Drake had had a fit that could've rivaled the Dark Knight's temper. At least it had given him a story.

The fundraiser otherwise had been filled with shifty people (it made him wonder if he'd been like that all week) and Clark had immediately escaped as soon as it was over. Alfred hadn't been surprised to find him standing at the gates either, if his sigh and almost resigned tone was anything to go by. Clark could even say he had possibly been expecting him. No doubt thanks to the sensors planted all over Gotham connected to the Bat Computer. He really hated that thing sometimes. "The gates will be opening now, please step back as to not impale yourself."

The mansion was as luxurious as ever, everything sparkling and shiny. _Untouched._ Alfred stood in the hallway, arms crossed with his wrinkle free, steam pressed, suit soaking up the light from the grand chandelier hanging above him. It gave him an ethereal sort of look that rivaled Batman when he was looking diabolical. "What can I do for you, Mister Kent?"

Clark stopped and tried to offer a smile but it fell short on the smile department and ended up in the grimace one. "I was at the Drake's fundraiser for the Planet just there and I thought I'd pop by. To, y'know, see how things are going."

Alfred looked at him like a tiger sizing up a mouse and instantly Clark knew why Bruce liked Alfred. "I thank you for the visit but I'm afraid I'm very busy. It was a nice visit and I thank you--"

Interrupting Alfred was a death threat but he did it anyway.

"Superman could patrol Gotham in favour of the Bat if you'd like." He said a tad too rushed to be considered calm. Inwardly, he scolded himself.

Alfred's look was sharp and it would surely haunt his dreams for years to come. "I thank you, Mister Kent, but _no thank you_. Gotham Police are doing their job, as they should. And Gotham will stand firm until the Bat returns and most importantly, _I_ will stand by Master Bruce's rules. _Goodbye,_ _Mister Kent_."

"But, I-" He was given an icy glare. He gave up forming an excuse. "Goodbye, Alfred."

He could see a veiled threat when it was one.

Falling back onto Superman's speed he was out the door and heading back to Metropolis in the blink of an eye.

 

-/-/-

 

Batman followed the Talon as she stumbled her way through passageway after passageway until finally he seen the first ounce of natural daylight in weeks.

He was out, finally. _He was out_.

_Alfred._

He needed to get to Alfred, _now_.

_He had to protect his home, his city_ , _his safe little haven that he'd created in his time of darkness._

The Talon stopped at the end of the passageway that led into the sewers, staring expectantly at him. Unsure of what to do, he stared back at the goggled mask that was radiating cold disaffection. The girl had put it back on once he'd agreed to her terms. He'd been fine with it at first, but now it just made him twitchy.

"You agreed." The Talon clicked, gesturing to the sewer in a wide wave of her arm before placing her hands on her hips and tilting them to look menacing. "Fulfil your agreement, Bat."

A sinking feeling filled him and he felt as if his body was made of stone. Yes, he _could_ kill her but killing wasn't in his ways like it was for her and she looked young. Like she had her whole life ahead of her. He didn't want to cut _that_ short.

"I have a few more things for you to do before I carry out our deal, Talon." He said instead, trying to salvage the conversation before it got out of hand.

Talon sighed, sounding annoyed as she tilted her head mockingly. "Yes?"

This was the perfect opportunity. "Tell me your real name and take off your mask permanently." It was dirty and underhanded but there was no other way around it. If he wanted to help this girl, which he did, he had to take baby steps.

Annoyance and confusion filtered through her body language but the Talon did as it was told.

Pulling its mask off cleanly resulted in an unruly mop of tangled, ebony hair flowing free. Batman could say for sure it had to reach to her kneecaps.

He wondered how she shoved it all into that mask.

Her eyes, still a dull blue, had brightened at the sudden light and flashed a quick gold before turning into a soft ocean blue. The only thing Batman could safely say was that she looked better than she had in that room. "The Talon."

(He pushed the brief surprise down at the sudden addition of the,  _The._ No way this girl was the leader of the Court's Talons.) Which meant it was defaultedly, the same response as before, this was where Batman didn't want to mess up. She claimed to be Talon but maybe, _just maybe_ , she thought of herself like she thought the Bat and Bruce Wayne. "What's _her_ name?"

The Talon's eyes widened, flashing a stunningly iridescent gold, before a grin broke out on her face and she giggled. It was the first thing close to a laugh that didn't sound insane. In her sudden fit of mirth (Batman wondered if this was healthy) she started laughing properly as she bent double, her thin arms wrapping around her tiny waist as she sucked in air in a desperate attempt to gain ground.

"He knows," She whispered with a feral sort of glee that made Batman want to tense, his finely tuned instincts kicking in. Thanks to his self-control he managed to restrict the responce to a mere finger twitch. "He knows. He knows! Bat wishes for a name. Name. Name!"

She was bouncing on her heels now as happiness overtook her features. Before Batman knew it she was lunging towards him, engulfing him in a huge, tiptoed hug. Now only shaking from joy or something else, Batman didn't know.

"We call her Rachel Grayson," Her arms went limp suddenly from where they'd been hooked around his neck and Batman found his tired arms shooting up in some hidden parental instinct, to slip under her to keep her up. Her next words where a whisper filled with so much terror it made both Batman and Bruce want to punch whoever hurt her. "But..they'd.. they called her _Grayson_."

A growl bubbled from the back of her throat and Batman felt it vibrate as her head landed limply on his one good shoulder. (Somewhere aling the line he'd scratched the other one and now, as it stung like hell had spat on it, he suspected it was infected.) "We don't like that name. So, Rachel. Call me," Her voice broke as she attempted a better string of words. "Call me, Rachel."

Batman nodded as he shifted her dead weight into his good hip. "Alright then, Rachel, which way?"

He liked this kid. He liked her a lot and honestly she reminded him of himself when he was younger. Lost and alone with no one to guide them.

He felt Rachel smile through the now thinned neck kevlar as she snuggled her face into his neck, going completely lax in his grip and leaning into him. She did look young, maybe 15 or 16. She was Romani too, if the recognisable yet dulled accent meant anything. "Left, right, left, left, right, right, left. Then you're home."

_Thank you_ , he thought as he managed to rub her back as he cradled her closer to his chest. Making sure to keep a good hold on her so she didn't fall. He'd help her if it was the last thing he did. _Hopefully, someday, it will be yours too._

She deserved to live. She had a _right_ to.

And he was sure the villains wouldn't mind him getting a partner, he'd just have to keep an eye out for Alfred.

 

-/-/-

 

When the security system for the manor's sewer connection gate blinged at Alfred when he sat down in the black leather chair in the Cave he was sure it was a glitch. No one knew of that door and it was well out of the way of the mainstream sewer tunnels.

It had to be a rat.

_Yes, a rat._ Until Master Bruce's voice came over the comm link for that very door and Alfred - along with the bats resting overhead - nearly had a heart attack.

Bruce's voice was scratchy and raspy and despite his effort he sounded very tired. "Alfred, I need a tea, medical treatment and the maps of Gotham's entire sewer system now. Old and new. Oh, and open this damn door before that rat that's eyeing us decides to pounce and rips my goddamned cape even more."

Alfred would've scolded the younger man he saw as a son for his manners but no one else was there. With the Justice League stiffly awaiting him to crack under pressure (yet keeping their distance, there was a reason _he_ was still Batman and Bruce Wayne's butler) Afred sort of wished they had been there, if only be able to smirk at them and say _I told you so._ They were good people, of that Alfred had no doubt, but they were stubborn in the stupid, illogical way Bruce was not.

If anyone thought he would lift Bruce's strict rule of _No Capes in Gotham_ then they were stupider than Alfred had assumed.

Although Bruce had cursed. Alfred recohnised _that_ particular tactic as a stress reliever. Which meant something had happened in the three weeks and five days he'd been missing.

Alfred just hoped he'd misheard him when he had said _us._ There wasn't much tea left from his rather stressful binge drinking of it and he feared the worst: that he would appear as a bad host. _God forbid._

 

-/-/-

 

The door between the Wayne household and the sewers was protected state of the art, the best Batman could make, security measures.

Sometimes Alfred thought that maybe Bruce was a tad paranoid and _honestly_ _do we really need that?_ Then one of his villains decided to go for Mr Wayne and the security actually came in handy. Alfred had just learned to stop glaring at them so obviously.

Bruce had been gone for 3 weeks and 5 days and more than once had that security protocals and measures came in handy. At least three times _something_ had tried to smash in the studys window, in the exact same place where the glass had originally shattered from where Bruce had dissappeared. It had given Alfred quite a fright whenever he'd returned three days later to find a damp, wreaked study. Somewhere where a fight or at least a stuggle had taken place if the black goo (it reminded him a tad of blood, from the way it had dried and its odd texture) in the wall was of any indication.

"Master Bruce!" The sewers were dark and smelly but if Alfred squinted as he bumbled down the stairs he could see the outline of that _oh-so-familiar_ black cape.

Sure enough, at his name Bruce turned around and even in the dark Alfred could very easily see the girl resting on his hip either unconscious or asleep (inwardly he sighed, _this_ was so obviously the stray. Secretly, he hoped the young girl was asleep. He'd never be able to live dosn the shame of not having enough tea.) His suit was, indeed, in tatters, with his mask ripped just so that you could see one bloodshot, almost grey, eye. His cape, battered and stretched and torn, was barely still connected to his chestpiece. The main kevlar of the suit looked to be thinner than what it should've been and Alfred was sure if he focused he could see Bruce swaying back and forth ever so slightly. Whether from exhaustion, an injury or to possibly calm himslef or the girl, Alfred selfishly hoped it was the latter. Still, he asked. "Are you alright, sir?"

Bruce's grin could've blinded a lesser man and Alfred thanked god that he wasn't one. Shuffling forward and not bothering to mask a wince as his hip popped loudly in the smelly silence, Bruce nodded at the little metal box that was the keypad making an aborted shrugging motion. "I apologise for calling you Alfred but I don't know the code and I didn't want to risk anything."

Alfred could've laughed but he felt drained from the past few weeks and he ended up triedly snorting as he typed in the code. The lasers slowly disabled and vanished with a hydraulic hiss and a few metallic clangs. Relief bloomed in him, slicing away the shock and it was a challenge to keep his voice even with his eyes shinning. "That's quite alright, sir. Do try to not give me a heart attack again, though, Master Bruce."

He got a sheepish smile in response. "It's good to see you too, Alfred."


	4. Feathered Grace

 

His feet hurt. And now that he thought about it so did his shoulder, and his back, and his hip. And his neck.

 _Damn._ He was getting old.

He was sitting on one of the two med cots in the med bay area of the Cave with Rachel knocked out on the one beside him to his left. She'd fallen asleep on the second left turn and after how ever long he'd been there he didn't have the heart to wake her.

From years of experience, as both Bruce Wayne and Batman and the shadows inbetween, he now knew of by heart who could start a conversation. Ergo, without matter of a doubt he'd removed the cowl immediately and was now sitting there, contemplating his words. Something he'd never done much of before.

He wondered where his social skills had went to.

Maybe they'd died in that Maze, along with his stern resolve.

"How long has it been?" He'd asked, wincing at the rough scraping feeling using his voice caused, deep in his throat. He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them, Alfred was there. Standing patiently with a cup of, no doubt, earl grey tea.

He wasted no time on blowing on it. The heat was nice, with a distinct difference from the stale drugged water of the fountain and the parched dry feeling of swallowing his saliva. It rolled down his tongue like soap. "It has been three weeks and five days since I returned home. From my small, and rather inadequate, analysis skills I assume you were taken a few days before I arrived back. I am relieved you are back though, Master Bruce. Although, there have been a few security problems recently that I'd advise you to look into as soon as possible, despite your rather pressing health, they are quite concerning."

A mix of emotions bubbled within him. There'd been security problems? He'd been gone for over three weeks? What state had Alfred found the place in? How had it scared him? Regret formed but the real Bruce had never been good at apologies or giving thanks.

That's what Bruce Wayne was for: he was a cover, a show, he was all an act. Bruce Wayne was a show for the rich and an ignorant man for the poor. It's what made his identity so secure. If he showed no interest in crime how could he be linked to it? The furthest he'd gotten to it all was being friends with Jim Gordan. And even years later no one knew a thing. Really though, Batman practically  _was_  his identity nowadays with Bruce Wayne as his cover.

A thought came to him as Alfred wheeled over the trolley of medical supplies. "What about the League?"

As much as he enjoyed being in a group of people who dealt with the same thing and was openly recognised, he hated the way the tide could turn for them instantly. With the League relying on Governmental approval to run around the world and walk on free ground, one wrong move could send them tumbling backwards.

That was, obviously, why they had secret identities for one reason or another. They needed to protect themselves out of the suits and those they held close. That was why Batman mainly stood in the shadows, he didn't want to be there when it fell, in the nicest way possible.

"Mister Kent popped by more than once in various attempts to have me allow Superman to patrol but I stuck firm to the rule, Master Bruce." He finally raised an eyebrow at Rachel just as Bruce hissed as the disinfectant burned against his shoulder wound. "And who would this young lady be?"

"Ah," He said, glancing over to the too thin girl lying on the cot next to him. Suddenly he didn't know what to say. "She- uh. She helped me get out. I'm in debt to her."

Alfred wore his knowing look but didn't say anything about it. Instead, he chuckled making his moustache twitch and spoke in a playfully chiding tone. "What have I said about becoming in debt to your villains, Master Bruce?"

 _But she's not a villain. She's just a lost child_. He wanted to explain, say what the Court had done (or what he knew and could guess of it) but he couldn't risk it so soon, maybe once he'd saved his city. 

Bruce smiled ruefully when Alfred turned around to grab the bandages.

 

-/-/-

 

Rachel knew all too well the feeling of disturbed sleep. She could only rely on powernaps to get her through the days' long hours. There had been no chances to sleep in with Cobb always there, watching her every move, claiming he knew what was right for a young girl like her.

Bad memories swirled and she forcefully pushed the line of thought away.

She opened her eyes to dull golden light, brighter than the Maze's lit up hallways. That alone had her once calm instincts jolting into awareness and her pupils contracting with the onslaught of light and sudden panic.

With the twitch of her fingers she could feel the silken blankets her high-end targets decorated their sleeping rooms in. She could feel the too soft pillow under her head and the way she felt as if she were floating on a cloud made her feel sick.

She stopped breathing so heavily and snapped her eyes shut, for all appearances sleeping, as sound came to her.

There was another in her vicinity. Wherever she was she wasn't alone. Judging from the deep breaths they belonged to a man, possibly over six foot to accommodate the amount of oxygen the lungs were sucking in.

Her veins tickled unhappily, six foot was taller than Cobb. Cobb had been 5 foot 11 and Red had broken a small sweat trying to kill him (and although Cobb had been a Talon, the six foot man's breaths were deep yet measured in the way only a war-trained soldier could breathe, that wasn't good).

Instead of speaking, instead of ruining the rare moment of peace (even if it had her tensing with panic at the presence of another), Rachel just breathed.

With the well-trained ears of a broken soul she listened to the soft croon of birds as they sung their songs. And for the first time in a long time, she relaxed. Remembering faint whisps of a time where she'd lay upon a trailer, sunhat on her head as she grinned up at a summers deep morning sky.

She was close to falling asleep again whenever the six foot man spoke, the sudden rustle originating from his area suggested he'd turned to look at her.

"I know you're awake." The voice was deep and it sprung a leak somewhere. She recognised that voice.

Bruce Wayne. Millionaire playboy, his company, Wayne Enterprises, was close to becoming world-wide and him a billionaire. #67 on priority list, #53 on watch list and #90 on threat list. 

How had _he_ found her?

She ignored the question, opting for more information. Her voice rasped in the familiar way she could remember it had from the day Red had been born. It had used to feel right, now it just felt wrong. "Where am I?"

"Wayne Manor, how do you feel? You can open your eyes if you want."

"Fine," she said, even though her stomach somersaulted unhappily and she had to swallow her saliva harder than usual to make it go and stay down. The light was better than it had been at first, not so blinding as her eyes adjusted. She could feel her pupils responding, becoming normal sized for a humans.

She was in a room. It was big and lavish and it painted a picture of what this man lived in while she survived off scraps and at the slightest misstep was forced back into her coffin.

She felt annoyance bubble up within her immdiately. Wayne spoke again, this time with a cup with brown liquid that steamed appearing in front of her as he beckoned her to sit up. "Do you remember what happened? Here, sit up, tea."

Rachel assumed that the steaming light brown liquid was tea and from her initial assessment of grabbing it, she found it held temperatures of beyond her tolerance. (Which was admittedly smaller than most other Talons. Red had gotten in the way of her lower temp tolerance training, she couldn't handle the cold, just the heat even then it was no more than an average humans which was pittyful.)

"Careful," Wayne said, sitting down in an old mahogany wooden seat beside her. "It's hot."

The room was wallpapered in soothing golden waves with royal, blood red highlights added in from place to place in beautiful swirls and flowers. There was a door which she assumed led into a walk-in closet (as rich people were naive like that) and another further down from that which she assumed to be an ensuite bathroom.

There was a bedside table beside the bed which was what Wayne set the teacup on when she'd decided it was too hot to attempt more than a few sips. The bed she was lying in had to be somewhere between a King or a Queen and the covers (like she'd assumed earlier) were fastened out of a royal red coloured silk. There were no visible threats other than the low level man in front of her.

Thinking back to the last thing she remembered it all came back to her. The Talon had had enough and decided to leave. Then it had left, walking back into the recesses of her mind, deciding it had lived long enough and that it was her turn. She had led Batman out of the Maze when he had found her and the man had brought her with him. But then--

 _De cercuri_.

"You're Batman." Of course, it was genius. Disguise yourself as an uncaring rich man and no one would know a thing. If she'd been The Talon she'd have had to report this but now she was free, up top, away from the sewers, and she didn't have to do anything. A thrill of excitement ran through her.

"Yes," Wayne nodded, "You remember everything else then?"

The way he looked at her meant he wanted her to repeat it. Her eyes flickered out the window while she did. "You found The Talon. It led you out of the Maze and you brought me along with you; here instead of dumping me somewhere like anybody else would."

Cobb had done that once. He'd dumped her in a remote part of the old sewers and told her to find her own way back. She'd spent three days lost there but by the end of it she knew the sewers like the back of her hand. (Thin and scraggly with random veins that seemed to end randomly, bleeding off into nothingness. Her black blood was the sewer water and it was as temperamental as the sewers themselves.)

A thought came to her and she felt her mood plummet into darkness.

She had nowhere to go. She'd have to attempt to do something up here to get money, to get a house or to leave. She could go back to Romania, she still had the faded skin tone and the accent to prove the lady was her country and she knew her mother-tongue. Her ancestors and her family had lived in Romania for generations, she was sure she could navigate her way around it. She'd been born paranoid, she'd be able to watch her back for the Court's hellhounds. No doubt, with her being the Talon's leader they  _would_ come after her.

Wayne cleared his throat, and Rachel's eyes zoned in on his patient expression in the window. She could see herself too, thin yet alive looking with her hair cut and washed for the first time in years. After a second she turned her head to him, "Yes?"

"I'm aware you used to live down there," Wayne said, looking more serious than the papers with him in them, that had made their way down to the sewers, had ever made him look. "And firstly, I want to you know you have a choice here: you can stay here, with me and my butler and we can come up with a cover or you can leave and do whatever you wish to. Batman destroyed the Court so you're free to do anything."

Shock coursed through her and her world seemed to still. The Court, her Talons, were gone. Most likely dead at the whimsical actions of a man who dressed like a bat. Her world, culled by man who knew nothing of her life. A man who they'd thrown in the remote Maze, kept aside only for those the Master did not like. 

She wasn't sure she liked this man. The very fact that he hid the Bat behind a persona so well disturbed her. Rachel nodded and thanked him anyway.

She always had enjoyed a good show. She supposed she could stay.


	5. Stars in the Night Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations of ages and names and our first peek at one of my favourite members of the Justice League.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Set, roughly, late-1995.))
> 
> I just posted my oneshot there, the games night one, and everyone seems to love it so thank you. If you have any suggestions or ideas please comment down below and I might be able to do a oneshot on it. I'm always looking for ideas. xD

 

Rachel loved languages. Each and every one so different and incredible, they fluttered like love from her lips and B returned in kind.

She found early on, that, despite not being The Talon anymore, she still had Red's memories. That was both good and bad, for she got her skills and prowess but the memories were not  _all_ good. Rachel found herself remembering times she'd thought lost, remembering being something darker than she'd ever wanted to be.

Bruce Wayne, as she'd presumed, held onto multiple personas. He had many, the Batman and Brucie Wayne being the two most obvious. 

Batman was the dark, he was the shadows. The man was barely a man at all, he lurked where no other could and struck from the sides of ones sight. He prowled the streets of his City in a caped suit of black and grey, wielding carbon fibre batarangs that either exploded, were as sharp as knives, burst into light flashes or merely ricocheted off the surfaces to knock their enemies out. Batman was Gotham's Knight, he was her protector. Her _saviour_.

Brucie Wayne was the public's playboy, he was the one who went around his parties and Gala's and got supposedly drunk. He was the one who charmed the women, flashed unstoppable, glimmering smiles at them and walked away with their world in his arms.

Bruce Wayne was a hollow man who held nothing. He was the one who the Bat drained his power from, he was the one who gave Brucie his body and  _he_ was the one who funded the Bat.

Bruce Wayne (B, She decided to call him, simply to differentiate) was her soon-to-be father. Her saviour; that counted for something, right?

It turned out Red's memories held more than she'd thought, for with them she dazzled B and the Bat with her language and her knowledge. Without the Court she felt lost yet she felt refreshed, as if she'd been waiting for this, as if she was new.

The butler, Alfred Pennyworth, was nice enough. With his brown-turning-white moustache, the man, at least in his late fourties, favoured tea with a spectacular passion. At first, he'd glanced at her with an appraising eye before he accepted her and offered her tea (which was, apparently,  _a good sign_.).

The Bat wasn't so trusting, preferring to delve into one's world to see what made them as they were. He harboured a computer in his infamous Bat Cave, and on that he updated countless profiles of his criminals and everyone else he so much as learnt the name of, creating backup protocols on how to defeat them.

In simpler terms: the Bat was paranoid.

She found this transferred over to B one sunny morning.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Rachel, simply put, was in a bad mood.

She'd found the previous day that her Talon weakness of bright lights still applied to her. That annoying thing apparently called having light retinas, as one of the Court's docs had said so long ago. Then, this morning, she'd unthinkingly opened up her curtains this morning and nearly blinded herself. It hadn't been a fun experience.

"Rachel," B nodded in greeting when she sat down at the luxurious wooden table in the dining room. It wasn't used very often other than for formal breakfasts, which probably meant he was expecting someone other than her. "Sit down, I'm expecting someone over. He should be here in a few minutes."

"Oh?" She hummed as if she hadn't just made the very presumption. "Who would that be?"

"Hal Jordan, otherwise known as the Green Lantern. He's coming over to talk about the Watchtower."

Right, the _Watchtower._ Batman's latest toy. A space station for the Justice League. The Lantern was likely coming over to see if the current design was appropriate for space, seeing as he was the only current Leaguer well acquainted with space as he commonly ventured there with his Corps duties.

"He'll be staying for breakfast?" She asked as Alf walked into the room, tray with a teapot and other little containers with milk and sugar in them balanced on his arm.

The butler laughed, his moustache twitching, as he set them down. "Master Hal will indeed be staying for breakfast, the boy can barely cook anything and at my insistence he gladly stays."

Rachel supposed that made sense. You couldn't expect a man who was normally in space to be able to cook properly. The fact that Alf seemed to like him threw her for a bit of a loop though. "You seem to like him,"

"Why yes," Alf said, looking oddly fond. "The boy reminds me of my nephew, he is a.. _wild_ spirit. I believe you will like him, Mistress Rachel."

She blinked, she hadn't even known Alfred had any other family. To think that he spent all his time in some dusty, old Manor when he had living family members out there was sad. B interrupted her thoughts, "He does tend to bring sweets when he comes over."

"From around the world," Alf smiled, carefully setting out the containers, moving them from his tray onto the table. When he finished he pulled out an old, golden pocket watch and nodded. "Yes, he should be here in around five minutes if he is sticking to schedule."

"Which means he'll be here in ten minutes," B added and Rachel raised an eyebrow as she spooned some more sugar into her tea.

"He's not good at time keeping?" She hummed, remembering a certain  _helper_ who was the exact same. You gave him a time and he'd show up ten minutes later unless it was life threatening.

Alf chuckled as he lifted his tray up, "He tends to lose track of time, he merely forgets." He began to walk back into the kitchen, "I shall bring out breakfast whenever Master Hal arrives."

With a nod he was gone, essentially pulling a bat where he vanished. B looked over to her, dropping his paper as he stapled his fingers together. "Rachel Grayson."

Rachel raised an eyebrow, Cobb had called her Grayson but after she'd made that half-delirious admittance B had refrained from calling or even saying that name. She sipped at her sweet tea, "Yes, Bruce Wayne?"

B didn't smile, for that matter, he didn't even smirk. When he spoke it sent a shiver down her back, "What is your name?"

He sounded serious, like he knew what was going on. Rachel hid her nervous smirk in her cup as she took another sip. The man didn't know anything, "Rachel Grayson. Soon to be Wayne if you follow through with the adoption papers."

Yes, adoption. B wanted to adopt her and by this point it was just another form of protection. Rachel wouldn't admit it on her life that she may or may not hold an ounce of affection for the man. She liked him, because really, he  _had_ saved her from the Court. Technically. The man  _had_ had the option to dump her there in the sewers, too, but he hadn't. She was able to appreciate that. She could accept him being her father.

"No," He said in dissmissive. "Your  _real_ name."

Rachel felt her heartbeat get faster, it tumbled in her ears and suddenly the sunlight that streamed in through the blinds was too much. It was blinding, beaming onto the table where it glinted off the cutlery.

"My real name?" She asked increduously, trying to cover up the heart-stopping fear she now felt.

"Yes," He said, "This will stay between us, I promise. But there is no living  _Rachel Grayson._ The nearest is an Anca, who went missing around fifty years ago." He raised his eyebrow as she smirked, "That wouldn't be someone you'd happen to know?"

"I may or may not be known by such a name."

"How?" He asked, leaning in just the slightest. Her eyes spied the clock on the wall, small and old but correct. They had four minutes until Jordan arrived. 

"The Talon serum," She admitted. "I was born in 1935. My parents died in '45, Cobb arrived and I became a Talon not a day later. The serum prolongs one's life by almost completely stopping the ageing process."

"You look 16, though." He said, brows scrunching as he comprehended the situation. "How can you not have the mentality of a 16 year old and still be 60?"

She shrugged, "Not too sure about the science but the basics are that the body's ageing stops while the mind continues to develop and learn. It's like that man, Ra's al Ghul, he uses the Lazarus Pit to stay young but he still holds his seven centuries of memories. Essentially, 50 years later, I look 16. We live for a  _very long_ time."

B nodded and Alf scurried by, unknowing - but she wouldn't put it past him, as the door bell rung. There was the sound of a door opening and a man, a few inches shorter than B from his weight, nearing his  late twenties, spoke. "Gramps! How are you? I just came in from Central there, Barry could keep talking for the whole damn day, y'know?"

Alf's amused voice floated in, "I know all too well, Master Hal. How have you been, dear boy?"

They walked into the dining room and Rachel was met with the sight of a tall, slim brown haired man smiling at Alf. He was wearing a pilot's jacket and a pair of loose jeans with his hands shoved in his pockets, a bag left hanging around his wrist. He looked up from telling Alf he was feeling great, returning the question and smiled.

"Sup, Bruce. You must be Rachel," He nodded at B and smiled at her as he slid into the other seat by B's side, opposite to her. "Pleasure to meet you, kid. I'm Hal Jordan, the one and only Green Lantern." He shuffled his jacket off and flung it over the back of his chair, revealing a grey top.

Rachel definitely was  _not_ annoyed at being called a kid. Definitely not.

( _"Kids sit on the ground and listen to their elders. If they speak without permission, they get slapped."_ Cobb smirked cruelly down at her.  _"These rules apply to you too,_ kid. _"_ )

Bruce sent him a tampered frown, "What would you have done if she didn't know about me being Batman, Hal?"

Hal smirked, "Well, she obviously knows. If she didn't though," He said hurriedly at B's scowl. He dumped the bag into the table with a thump. "I would've played it off, Bruce. You know how good I am at that sorta stuff, I think I could handle playing it off as a joke. I do have to regularly try to not offend aliens I meet on other planets while playing Lantern Ambassador, after all."

Alf came in them and set down three plates of waffles in front of them all. Hal nudged the bag and Alf lifted it. "Sweets from India an' China, all down 'round there. I tried a couple, odd but nice."

Alf smiled at Hal, "Thank you, Master Hal."

Hal looked slightly happier as he smiled back, picking up his cutlery to begin sawing at his waffles. "No problem, Al. I do have to feed your addiction for weird and wonderful sweets, after all."

Alf left them and for a few minutes the room was silent aside from their knives scraping against their plates. Hal spoke up, "I heard what happened with the whole Court of Owls thing, honestly I'm sorry I wasn't there to see you kick their asses."

"You were not one of the League pestering B for right into his City?" Rachel asked and Hal blinked, looking taken aback.

"What? They were pestering you, Bruce?" Hal asked, leaning in a tad. Rachel realised who B had gotten that quirk from. "Who?"

Bruce snorted, "I was in the Maze so they weren't pestering me, exactly. From what Alfred has said it was just Clark, Diana and a bit more of Clark."

Hal chuckled at that but frowned then after, looking like he was remembering something. "So the two were pestering Alfred? Damn, Barry - for all he talks - definitely didn't say anything about _that."_

"Allen is weird when it suits him," B said dissmissively, sipping at his tea. Rachel was honestly surprised he hadn't called for coffee yet.

"Nah," Hal said, spooning a teaspoon of sugar into his tea before he sipped at it. "Barry's running on thin ice with the two. They've been weird lately, 'parently. Clark and Diana. Huh... Barry says J'onn reckons they're getting together." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I wouldn't know though, just got back from Oa there before I paid Barry a visit. You seen his kid now? Well - he's actually his nephew, but you probably already know that--"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Allen adopted his nephew? I didn't hear about that."

Hal looked disbelieving and Rachel gladly joined him in that. No way the Bat didn't know something.

"As if," Hal said without missing a beat. "You definitely know about this: y'know, Zoom getting the poor kids parents, Barry feeling sorry so he adopted the kid and now he's like a growth with how much he fits in with Barry and Iris. Yeah? You  _have_ to know about that."

Bruce looked annoyed he hadn't known about that. "I knew about the attack and how the boy's parents were put into hospital, both critical, but I heard nothing more after that."

Hal shook his head as he shoved a piece of wafflewaffle into his mouth. "Well, look at that, the space man knows more about something than  _the Bat_." He smirked as he finished his waffles. "I'll be damned."

"So," B started, sliding a computer drive over to Hal. "The Watchtower's blueprints and exact coordinates."

Hal smirked, "You're calling this thing the  _Watchtower?_ Stalkerish much?" He picked up the drive anyway and Rachel watched, transfixed, as a green ring shimmered to life on his middle finger. With a tap on the Lantern insignia a green light was scanning the drive, with a loading bar popping up on the green hologram display it was projecting.

"The public won't know of this," B said as Hal raised an eyebrow at the designs. "No one other than the League."

"Not Iris then? Because I'm staying at their house tonight and I was gonna run through the thing there.."

"As long as she tells  _no one._ " B said.

Hal laughed, as if B had said an inside joke that only the two of them knew. "Iris actually likes you, Bruce. She won't tell a soul and plus, she just sees this as more 'top secret hero' stuff. She completely ignores us when we work on these sorta things."

B nodded and looked ready to say something before Hal's ring before and a robotic, feminine voice rung out, "Warning: located life energy signal, similar to  _Thal Senestro._ "

Hal frowned and, compared to his once happy glimmer in his eyes and earlier smirk, it looked wrong. "Ring: where?"

"Loaction: Coast City." The voice said, "Danger Rate: 6 out of 10. Urgency is advised."

Hal shot them both a rushed smile as he shrugged back on his pilots jacket. "Sorry 'bout this, I'll see you at the League meeting tomorrow? I'll give you any updates then, yeah?"

B nodded, not at all phased by the man's sudden need to go. Rachel assumed most heroes lives were like this. "Of course, I hope everything goes well with Sinestro."

Hal smirked sardonically. "When does it ever? Anyway, bye you two." His head turned to the direction of the kitchen as he shouted, "Bye Alfred! Thanks for the food, gotta go now!" 

"Good bye, dear boy! Good luck!" Alfred shouted back  as Hal breezed through the doorway and shut the door with a bang.

"That was sudden," She said, turning her attention to her now cold tea.

"Hal is a busy man, or so he says." B smirked, "So, about those sweets, you want to join me in trying them?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, "Obviously."

Hal Jordan was nice, she figured. If the rest of the Justice League was like him, she supposed she'd get on well with them.


	6. Bathed in thy Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of Rachel as The Talon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horace and Red (technically Red) are mine. They are OC'S, with Red being the split persona to R's Talon side. So I don't quite know if that counts but I made her up so yeah.

 

She remembers the way the red and blue blurs fell like leaves fluttering in the breeze.

She remembers dismissing the pained, knowing, _sad_ , look Mr Haley had sent her as her great-great-grandfather had shown up. She remembers the way she'd recalled the words her _tătic_ had spoken years before: "Blood; family blood is good. It keeps you alive, if you stay with it and trust your instincts you will live, my baby girl. Follow no one else's hopes or desires. Just your own, make your own path."

She remembers the way her belly had tingled like something was going to happen, the way it had before _mami_ and _tătic_ had fallen. She remembers the heartaching pain she felt at thinking about her parents and she remembers ignoring the feeling in her belly, ignoring her instincts, going against her _tătic_ 's words.

Thinking back on it, she realises she ignored a lot that night.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Anca had been a naive child. She'd recalled only the advice about following and going with family blood, dismissing the tacked on urge to trust her insincts and the last tid-bit of worth-while advice.

She reasons, ten is a young age to fully understand that _great_ tagged onto a title should mean the person behind it should be pretty old, nevermind with _t_ _wo_ of them. The information flutters in one ear and out the other as a young, looking around 30, man appears on the circus's doorstep and smiles happily at her.

The man's eyes are burdened with the same stress her _tătic_ held in his strong frame, in his hulking, mammoth like gait, the same pain is etched into the man's face when her _mami_ 's face scrunched up whenever she talked about her _mami_ , Anca's _bunica_. Something about the stricking familiarity raises a feeling of calm in her ten year old self and she smiles back: even if there are tear teacks down her cheeks, her smile is dimmer than normal and her eyes are watery.

"William Cobb," he introduces himself as, crouching down on her level and doing a funny little bow that makes her giggle sadly. His smile is the kindest she's seen directed at her from someone she doesn't know. Maybe that makes her like him more too _and_ he's funny. "I'm your great-great-grandfather, Anca. I'm your _mami_ 's..." He hesitates here and probably decides that saying something like, _I'm your mami's tatic_ 's _tatic_ 's _tatic,_ is a bit weird even if she's in a bit too much shock to realise if he's lying, even if it's as clear as day. So he continues with, " _Fratele."_

" _Mami_ 's _fratele_?" She asks and Cobb nods and smiles. Her _mami_ 's brother had came for her, she'd been overjoyed at the time.

"Your _mami_ asked me to take care of you if anything ever happened. Would you like to come live with me, little Anca?"

That was the day she sealed her fate. _At least_ , she thinks later on, _at least I sealed it with a smile._ "Yes, please!"

When she does the maths nine years later she finds out Cobb is actually her _great-great-grandfather_ and there's no chance that her _mami_ knew the bastard. She's happy about that, not because she's found her _mami_ didn't know him but because that means she can kill him knowing her _mami_ never knew nor loved him.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

She'd never been the only Talon. Sure, she'd been _T_ _he Talon_ but that didn't mean she was a single force. Being _T_ _he Talon_ meant she was the head, the leader. She couldn't be a leader if she was alone. ( _Though_ , she huffs to herself, she had never been _The Talon_ , _it_ had. Red had been _The Talon._ )

The other Talon's preffered to roam the corridors of the Maze, fluctuating among the route of the statue, the training room, their tacky make-do living areas and the arena where the Courtiers sat high up in rows of red, silken seats, where they gave them their orders or where challenges for _The Talon_ 's mantle took place.

Rachel preferred to stick to the shadows and the high alocloves carved into the Maze's marble walls. She preferred to watch.

So she watched. She watched as the other Talons went about their buisness, not as mindless as they all let the Courtiers think.

They went about jobs: learning healthcare (incase one of the new Talons got sick, as they were prone to be), or learning a fellow companions mother tongue (god knew there were many different mother tongues mingling in their nest), or maybe playing games. The Courtiers (and Cobb, who thought much like them - arrogant and snide) believed it was wrong for the Talon's to play together, playing meaningless games like eye spy so the Talon's changed it up, saying they were practicing team building efforts. Going so far to only play tag and other stamina boosting or vision enhancing games when Cobb was around.

Some more caring Talons stood by and offered advice, gave help, smiled reasuringly in the corridors and even occasionally smuggled in alcohol for a few birthdays of the younger ones. But after a while, Cobb caught on, and when Cobb caught onto something you could be assured the Court would know within the hour. Eventually, all these self dubbed _helpers_ vanished to the coffins. They weren't woken up, deemed the worst punishment. When one was frozen to the core it left scars. Rachel knew, she'd been... curious for her first years, constantly toeing the line of rules. She'd stopped after they froze her for a week. Honestly, she didn't know what she would've done had they kept her in there longer.

There reaches a point where there's one _helper_ left. He's Romani, like her, and he's old, over three centuries, leading him to want to help the young ones. He's kind and everyone likes him, (maybe not Cobb but then he doesn't like many).

His name is Horace Monook and after a while the Court realise he can hold power. And thus, in reaction towards the Talon's more flighty nature's, they name him a supervisor. Still a Talon but he is more like their guardian, where Cobb stands as their trainer.

His reception is grand and every Talon is buzzing (except for Cobb, although he does seem to respect Monook a tad more) to have a Talon up in high command, where Cobb, the Master and his closest Courtiers had stood before. They rejoice at the chance for a stake of power, no matter how much of a slither it really is.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

She tries to banish the memories of what she had to do when she'd failed a mission. She tries to forget what she'd had to do because she was starving and close to death.

There's a reason she's vegetarian in later years. She'll never forget that poor man.

 

-/-/-

 

When she was 40, when she'd been with the Court for 30 years and had been under Cobb's careful eye for the entirety of that time, Rachel snapped. The stress came down and her personality split.

It started off as eye twitches everytime she killed. She'd be swinging her beautiful sword (sometimes daggers) down in a glinting arc, aimed to cut her targets head clean off, when she'd involuntarily blink. She had always been enraptured in the way a human's blood spurted when their head vanished and she'd always made it a point to watch but this time she'd blinked without meaning to.

To say she was dissapointed to miss the man's end was a truth, but he was one of many on her hit list. And when the involuntary blinking kept happening she'd went to a medic who'd shrugged and reconmended another few hours of sleep.

It molds into finger twitches next, her blade is aimed for the heart dead center one moment and the next it's a few millimetres off. It annoys her enough that when she misses she rips the target's heart out if only to hide the complete and utter shambles she'd made of the kill. The other Talons give her space during this time, thinking she's just getting annoyed at the lack of targets because for some reason around the start of spring, (when their target schedules are changed and updated), the target number drops and stays like that for a while. She can't say she's pleased at the space but she's not annoyed by it. Her eyes are twitching more and more by the day. She's becoming too paranoid to talk to the others.

One day, she wakes up and she's stiff all over. It puts her in a bad mood and everyone steers clear of her path. She's begun to attract the confused attention of Cobb and the Courtiers.

When her world dims she begins to panic. It's subtle, a hint of grey lurking in the sides of her vision constantly, so much that she thinks she's being stalked by the Batman even in the dusty confines of the Maze. She'd heard the rumours of how good the man was and she'd learnt the hard way to never underestimate _anyone._ Cobb had seen to that.

Within three weeks the grey has went from lurking in the sides to giving her headaches from the strain in her eys. Sometimes a black figure stands infront of her a distance away, at the end of the corridor sometimes, and each time she has to blink hard three times to regain focus. Or sometimes the shadows dart out in front of her, when she's alone or walking down the busy corridor. It irritates her beyond words.

Monook makes it clear everyone's concerned about her one bad week when she's had to sit down in the corridors five times, she's fainted twice and she's been told she sways from side to side quite a bit. She's too annoyed by her blurry vision to take his concerns seriously and she pushes him, and anyone else who tries to help, away.

She falls into a coma, one day, suddenly, scaring everyone. When she wakes up she's different. She's a new person.

She's not her anymore, more so, an _it. (A monster.)_

That is the decade _Red_ is born.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

They distance around it when it awakens. They claim they don't know the thing with red blood eyes that can change to the usual gold at a moments notice, but it knows, it sees the recognition in the other Talon's eyes when it feels something - _an urge, an unsatisfied whisper_ \- and does it, even if out of its character, may it be an action or a figure or phrase of speech. It sees their pain when they realise it is still there.

The _helper,_ Monook, is kind enough. But even it can see the pain in the man's eyes as he looks at it. Cobb is the same but he seems more angry, for taking away his 'niece'. It doesn't understand what he's talking about until something clicks, like a bridge in its head and a woman, broken and scarred, tells it what she thinks has happened. It continues on in the woman's place and decides to fufil the woman's full potential because it seems like it's going to be there for a while.

The other Talons begin to commonly call it Red because everytime it returns from a mission it comes back with claws dripping of red. It found it liked the name, very much so.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

It challeges _The Talon_ , currently recognised as William Cobb, more notably known as simply Cobb. Red challenges him for his throne, his rule because it's annoyed the way the younger ones keep coming back with arm length gashes in their stomachs and are expected to heal from them in preparation for the next days lesson. It's irritated how he demands so much, _too much_.

(Because the Court changed the formula for their blood to something weaker for the youngsters, so they could truely kill them if they hit them hard enough. So they could instil the true fear of death in them, to _control_ them.

It knows, _she_ knows, he knows and the younger ones know too.

Everyone knows.)

The fight is thrilling yet boring at the same time. Everyone gathers in the arena, Talons seperated and forced to sit on one high seated tiered side, under strict commands to not interfere or move, while the Courtiers and the Master sat on the other, grander, side.

It's like a game has begun with its fuse cut short when the Master whistles for the challenge to begin after his cup-bearer fills his glass with red wine. Red thinks it is fitting for such a momentuous occasion.

It swipes at Cobb, lunging at the man with brutal force and accuracy keeping its strikes aimed at the man's throat. Of course, he dodges easily, using the infamous _Talon_ speed to whip around behind it and deliver a cutting underknee kick. Red topples forward, catching itself in a handspring that it uses to its advantage to kick him away when he lunges. Cobb darts towards it playfully, pulling back at the last moment to circle Red as he grins. Red fingers its daggers by its thigh sheaves and traces the man's movements as he circles it, baring its teeth in a silent promise.

It'll kill him.

They all know it.

It holds no sentiment for the weak.

He silently lunges, so quick Red frowns as it strains to keep track and see him. The only thing that keeps the sword from slicing through its neck is its cunning intincts that flare up in warning and force it to raise a blade to block the blur of silver light.

They both parry and block in ruthless attempts to get in hits while simultanesouly trying to outdo to other in terms of skill. Constantly, it finds itself being forced into upping its game whenever the blur of a blade skims too close to its neck for the woman's comfort.

Red's patience vanishes for the short game whenever Cobb hits it so hard it tumbles back and has to somersault to stay standing. Anger and irritation rising, it shoves the blade through the man's throat before anyone can blink.

If the Master likes the loser enough (though extremely rare) he'll freeze them in their coffin for an eternity. Barely a punishment at all compared to their failure. Red thinks the loser should die and it will happily accept death for such a thing, though its not sure the woman inside its head wants to die just yet.

Of course, when _Cobb_ falls the Master is quick to announce he is freezing him but Red is too caught up in the alien feeling of glee at having won.

The game is over relatively quick and it finds itself frowning at the lack of fun, glee mixing in with it, _it feels weird,_ _odd,_ but the roar from the Talons behind it and the fast claps from the Courtiers break that thread of thought as it focuses in on its victory. Red can hear the woman thanking it for winning as it preens in the basking glory of being handed the mantle of _The Talon._

It rules now.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Monook is standing outside its coffin when it returns from being given the copper infused adimantium talons, its true prize. Red's buzzing with the woman's joy but that quickly dulls and vanishes at the sad smile Monook gives it.

"Congratulations, my friend." He says, clapping it kindly on the shoulder in what the woman explains is a non-threatening gesture when its thoughts leap to hypersensitivity, readying a plan to strike the man down the quickest.

"I wish you luck, Red." And then Monook's gone, nothing but a whisp in the ever silent wind. It doesn't see him for a long, long time after that.

Years later, it thinks back on that memory and silently appologises as Red waits for the Bat to find it. The woman's been down here too long and it has a feeling in its gut that spells good bringings should it follow its instincts. There's a snipit of a memory from the woman as it thinks that, it smirks and repeats it aloud:

"Trust your instincts, not others good intentions, for they will keep you alive." Red hums, its talons tapping on its coffin's wooden lid. It's heard good intentions pave the road to hell, but that's false because it's been in hell for a while without _any_ good intentions making a road. It wants -no, _needs,_ it **needs** \- out. Red knows for a fact, _she_ is ready to come back.

"That we shall." It says in jeer and leaves it at that.

Its inhumane cackle makes the room feel colder than it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAMI: Mommy in Romanian. From Google Translate.
> 
> TĂTIC: Daddy in Romanian. Also from GT (Google Translate).
> 
> BUNICA: Grandma in Romanian. From GT.
> 
> FRATELE: Brother in Romanian. Courtesy of GT.


	7. Blood of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A torment of the night is born from legends of ones home. Isn't that the way it always is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in my AU adamantium is a real metal, like in Marvel's universe (sorry, but I made her claws adamantium before realising it wasn't actually real. Damn you Logan.). One of the rarest and strongest in the world, basically Rachel's The Talon claws are made from copper infused adamantium. Which... Well, Rachel is really lucky to have that. But her claws can break, just at a really hot or really cold (if pressure is applied) temperature.
> 
> Oh, and I thought about this and figured Robin was too soft for Rachel. Plus she's 16 (publicly) and I think it's a bit weird to give her the mantle Dick made when he was 9. 16 is too old to go on with kids ideas (for this at least.) In my opinion though.
> 
> (Sorry for being so late with this update. You have no idea how many times I rewrote this chapter!)

 

"Why don't you go with something colourful?" B asks and Rachel takes a moment to think.

Colourful would be nice but it feels wrong. Naturally, she prefers dark clothing, sweaters that hide the claw marks on her arms and skin and body that are far too big to be done by anything but an animal -or a Talons claws. Rachel prefers skivvys with their high necks surrounding her, and although being tight, making her feel grounded. (Wanted. Needed.) She wears tight fitting dark jeans or trackies more than she wears dresses (even then she practically covers herself in concealer) and one would see her wearing boots moreso than high heels. 

Rachel's not sure she could handle anything but black. She's a tomboy-ish goth in that way.

Alf,  _good ol' Alf,_ who's over by the cooker making cookies, perks his head up at her resolute silence and takes the hint B hasn't yet taken note of. "Maybe we could try darker colours first, Master Bruce? Perhaps something such as turquoise?"

B snorts, because since when is turquoise a dark colour? Rachel, on the other hand, pauses.

Blue is good, she could deal with that (something like cobalt maybe) but she's not comfortable in it. Her eyes are blue, much like her  _tătic's_  whose were a deep oceanic blue with underlying hints of green. Her  _mami's_  had been a wonderfully rare purple, mauve. On the other hand, she liked red. She much more enjoyed the feelings that colour brought, power, emotion, strength.

She liked red. A _lot_.

"What about red?" She said, quickly sketching out the previously agreed armoured suit on the piece of paper in front of her. Skin-tight yet strong, and black bodied with an added red bat on the chest with her claws. "Red does go well with black and if we got a dark red it would blend in with both the suit and the shadows brilliantly. Perhaps carmine?"

B hummed as she slid the sketch over to him and he studied it. It was decent for being done in a hurry, that was one of the things Rachel had found she was good at despite her past. Drawing. It felt good. Freeing.

(Nothing like what living in the Court had felt like. She felt lighter nowadays, as if a weight was gone from her shoulders -lifted, oh so graciously.)

"I don't see why not," He nodded, but his pen still started drawing on the paper anyway. Rachel's chest tightened in annoyance. She liked that drawing - she didn't want it ruined. "And for this time of the year, at least, when it rains and snows frequently, I think you should add a cape."

The paper wooshed as it skittered over the table, stopping in front of her. On it, was a black cape that held a red inside, if she wore it she had no doubt it wouldn't brush her heels. Rachel found herself liking it. "It looks alright."

Alf popped up, a plate of cookies in his hand. He peered down at the sheet and his eyes widened appreciatively. "Alright? Mistress Rachel, that is absolutely astonishing! What will your name be?"

_When I see you up there, flying like a spirit, without a care, I think of a little winters robin hopping out to play._

Rachel's heart ached at the familiar hum. All it needed to be real was the inhumane flash of mauve eyes and it would be like her  _mami_  was right in front of her.

_Robin?_

No. It was too loving - _too_ caring. It had been her  _mami's_ nickname for her, she didn't want to soil it. Not yet, not when it was one of few things Rachel still held onto. She wasn't going out to be some shining light. She was going out to clean up the streets, why bother with giving hope to those who had lost it? Rachel, despite public opinion of her being an 'angel', was far from a saint.

Nah, she was an assassin.

There was a  _big_  difference between the two.

"Batgirl, perhaps?" Alf suggested. B raised an eyebrow but said nothing, glancing at her to gauge her reaction.

Batgirl... Batgirl didn't fit her. It didn't feel right, it felt like she was a weepy child who followed her father. Rachel was far from a weeping child. Her past hadn't allowed for it and she refused to grow soft in her recuperation.

 _You look like some demon up there!_  A child had once said when the Circus had visited their town. Rachel was honestly surprised she remembered it, even if the child's face was blurry. Clawed, shining, copper infused adamantium hands ghosted over her shoulders like a long lost ghost. They soothed her and she pushed the meaningless memory away.

Another one popped, sharper this time. The memory not as blurred. _Why would I sacrifice my_ _sleep to go see a bunch of gypsies swing on a rope?_

Frustration bubbled up within her at Red for digging that one up. B sent her an odd look and she realised she hadn't replied.

"No," She said, surprisingly strongly as she shook her head. "I want something... something darker."

 _Yes,_ Red whispered, her murmur sounding calmly deceiving.  _Darker. We need gore and blood and pain - we need the truth._

Alf sat down. He raised an eyebrow. "Darker? What like, Mistress Rachel?"

Rachel mulled over that. Alf was right. What did she want? She didn't understand what Red meant by the _truth._ What was it in her that made her shoot down these ideas with nothing more than a hunch?

 _You already know your name,_  Red hissed from the dark hollows of her head, sounding impatient now.  _It's in here, look for it!_

Rachel's gaze wandered away from Alf's curious grey eyes and B's thoughtful glimmer. She watched as the clock ticked and she listened to its mechanical click as the shadows of crows flying by fluttered through the window's sparkling glass panes, casting long dreary shadows on the ancient wooden table.

What did Red mean when she said she knew? Rachel couldn't remember anything prominently sticking out to her at any certain time--

_It goes of our country's Legends that there were only two archangels. No one else believes this, such as why no one else knows this story, but once there were two archangels. The first, -the male- was called Darkshadow, the other -the female- called Nightwing._

_**There.** _

"Nightwing," She announced, feeling power bloom in her chest. Yes, she liked that name. It felt right. Red emitted a sense of gloating. "My name will be Nightwing."

Bruce chuckled as he stood, taking the paper with him. "Right then, give me a couple of days to get this suit made for you. I'll see what I can do for you about getting some spare batarangs, just in case you wanna add to your arsenal of what is currently your talons, daggers and your sword."

Rachel nodded, standing too. "Thanks, I want to see if I can persuade the bats in the Cave to do more than twitter at me."

That was a lie, but they didn't need to know that. Rachel just enjoyed exploring the darker depths of the Cave. Alf got worried if she said she went wandering though, hence the excuse.

Alf stopped them both with a look, meaningfully jutting the plate of cookies forward. "Surely you two won't leave these marvellous, _warm_ cookies all alone out here."

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Normally, Rachel loved the rain. That was, when she wasn't out in it getting soaked.

//I need your full attention on the warehouse, Nightwing.\\\ Batman's gravelly voice grated over the communicator in her ear. By this point, with her hair stuck to her suit and face and the suit feeling very  _sticky_ , Rachel was one wrong word away from pulling the comm out and walking away. Patrol be damned.

She didn't understand why they had to go scarecrow hunting on a cold (wet and windy, too) october night.

//My full attention  _is_ on the warehouse, B.\\\ She growled back, barely managing to hold the hostility out of her voice. Although the rain dampened things, her heart  _was_  beating excitedly in her chest for reasons other than this being her first game. This was going to be her first kill.

Bats went silent. Rachel seen his cape flutter, being pulled by the wind, a few warehouses across from her, as he crouched down. She wondered why he bothered being silent, the rain hammering down on the metal of the warehouse was more than enough to mask his footsteps. There was no need for her to do so, as her footsteps were barely as loud as a pin dropping when she walked normally. If she wanted to make noise, she had to forcefully make it.

There was more than one reason she'd been able to keep The Talon's mantle for over five decades, her silence and skill only a few points of many.

Silently, she watched as Bats, staying crouched, made his way over to the skylight window of the Scarecrow's most recent hideout. Rachel wondered if someone really was that stupid to not cover their ceiling windows up in a city where the Bat lurked.

She supposed some people were just begging to die.

Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane, an ex-Arkham psychiatrist who been fired and went insane. His crimes involved child abduction, kidnapping, threatening police officers and citizens and playing with dangerous, too-secret chemicals. And, of course, many more that Rachel couldn't be assed to say.

Basically, he was a big timer in the Gotham Underground and honestly, due to his fame, Rachel had thought there would've been more thugs. 'Goons for hire', as Alf liked to joke.

There was ten lackeys, all circling a crude metal table with too many bubbling, oddly coloured vials and bottles to be safe. A man stood at the table mixing some weird glowing thing that reminded Rachel of the glowing algae she had sometimes found in the sewers. He was shaggily dressed in what looked like a real scarecrow's clothes (what with all the rips and holes) complimented by a base later of potato sacks and a mask made out of said potato sacks with a stitched on face.

Rachel wondered where he'd found all those potato sacks.

"Experience time: You take Crane while I handle the goons. Call for help if you need it, got it?" Bats gurgled as she hopped over the rooftops and crouched beside him at the window. Crane looked defenseless, all alone in the middle of his brainless circle of goons. Easy pickings. Rachel would be able to deal with a hundred of him at once and still come out in top.

Rachel smirked, her dominos lenses instantly mapping out the fastest route to grab the wanna-be scarecrow. Straight ahead. "No problem."

With that they both jumped on the window and dropped down into the middle of the warehouse.

Instantly, chaos erupted like a dog barking madly at a bird on a warm summer's night.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Machine guns twittered and snapped at the Bats shadowing form as the shadows swallowed him whole. Rachel wasn't concerned, for although two goons had fled and came back with three machine guns (it was stupid to come back at all - idiots _indeed_ ), she knew B was doing well. He had already taken out half of the sorry excuses of goons and was rumbling his way through the last dregs.

At this point, Rachel was quite honestly disappointed. Whenever she'd heard that Crane had specialised in toxins that stimulated the brains central processers to  trick it into believing it was reliving its worst fear she'd felt Red giggle within. Adrenaline had built up for this moment only to vanish in a foggy mist of confusion once the game had begun. She'd done all her research and had taken some of her free time to analyse B's older and most recent anti-toxins, getting ready for their fated showdown.  

To say, when she'd been sprayed and it had had no effect on her she'd been very disappointed.

Apparently, the fear toxin didn't apply to the extra add-on of having a Talons blood, especially since hers was the older serum. The younger ones might've been mildly affected but all in all, it was an annoying let-down.

And for a man who swung around a scythe he was appallingly bad at handling it. When he swung it, he overbalanced causing him to stumble, then try to hold himself up with the end of it or take another swipe at her. Their little pattern had completed itself twice before the man had stumbled and fell on his backside. A few well placed daggers kept him there.

Shame too, she'd wanted to toy with the Scarecrow before she'd soiled her blade with his blood.

For all his supposed intelligence, Rachel had used the man's sudden surprise at seeing a new vigilante prowling around with the Bat to her advantage far too well, which was probably why he had been so desperate to get her as he'd seen her as 'new pickings' (and, no doubt,  _weak._ ) The look of horror (or as much as one could get when the others face was hidden by a potato sack) moreso in his body language whenever his toxin didn't work was absolutely sublime.

That had been the only thing worth coming for. She grew bored easily.

Now, Rachel was thanking the fact she'd had the foresight to bring her sword as she raised it above the shaking pathetic excuse of a man's chest.

"NIGHTWING, STOP!"

Rachel reeled back, sword still firmly poised over the 'Crows heart. Bats had distracted her - she'd thought he knew better that to distract her when she was making a kill. What an  _odd_  man, he went on about good performance and doing everything properly yet he insisted on hindering her own show when she was, as some said, 'getting down and dirty'.

"What are you doing?" Bats roared, furious. (Huh. Rachel had never seen him angry in the six months she'd been staying with him.) The little remaining goons scattered away like scared little mice, Scarecrow quivered in her grip. Rachel tilted her head, unaffected.

Cobb was scarier, always was, always would be.

( _"I'll show you true fear, vermin."_ )

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm finishing this." She didn't understand, maybe it was the way she was holding her sword. Maybe it looked like she was threatening him rather than about to kill him, Cobb had gotten annoyed at that once. It was understandable. She had once too, when she'd been tasked to train a youngster.

Everyone thought they saw things they didn't.

One of her arms holding up the sword twitched from anticipation and edged it down closer to the mans heaving chest. Crane squeaked and Bats face hardened. Rachel tried to breathe off the rush of frustration. She wanted to kill him already.

"We don't kill."

_What?_

Stunned, Rachel retreated to her mental files. True, the Bat had never killed but she'd put it down to not getting the right opportunity. That happened sometimes -sometimes, one just wanted the  _perfect_  moment to drive their blade through their enemy's heart. The fact that the Bat did not simply kill by law was news to her.

 _Or maybe you just ignored the signs_. Red murmured from within. Something cold and gripping shouldered at her chest and Rachel had to suck in a deep breath.  _Understandable. As did I._

Rachel's mind screamed in confusion as Bats stopped in front of her and grabbed the sword from her hands. He leaned in meanacingly and growled, "We  _do not_  kill, no matter what. Go home."

 _What._  

"What?" She asked, more dumbstruck than anything now. Her claws dug into the smooth skin of her palms and grounded her as her breathing grew uneven. Her pulse had no doubt skyrocketed. She pushed away the panic and fear of being cast aside. "Why would you not kill? Why not take the chance to rid the street of these vermin while you still can? Why not--"

She didn't understand. Why would one not take the opportunity to finally  _get somewhere?_ It was foolish.

It went against everything she knew and had been taught previously.

She felt alienated. In her own City - a City, mind you, that she had been harboured within long before the time of Gotham's Knight. Long before he was even born.

"Go home, Nightwing." Bats interrupted, shoving her sword into the small gap between his utility belt and the batsuit. "We'll talk about this later."

Angry and frustrated, Rachel disappeared into the shadows.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

"What were you _thinking_?" B shouted, his cowl was down and even with the warm glow of the monitors glinting off his sweat slick hair he looked purely demonic. "We _never_ kill, Rachel. No matter what!"

Alf wasn't here to save her, having asked a few days prior for a week off to visit his nephew who was turning sixty. B had granted him permission, as well as a week off, and had told him to go and enjoy himself. Rachel ached at the loss of the one man who could make the Bat see rationally. She zoned out for fear of otherwise extracting the problem at hand the _easier_ way.

Her anger had fizzled out of existence as she jumped from rooftop to rooftop to get to the nearest Zeta Tube to beam herself to the Cave while letting the rain soak her to the bone. During that, her mind had cleared but her reasoning stuck with her and solidified. She'd killed for years, what was the harm in killing one measly man? It would clean the streets a lot quicker than sending them back to Arkham (which was utterly useless at this point) for another _fun time_ semester.

At the rate criminals got out of Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Penitentiary (not so much Blackgate but it was still risky) they both may have well as been boarding schools, taking the kids away for only a few months before they came back worse than before for their summer break. Rachel got the hint of what being like a parent felt like. She pitied those who had to deal with their kids day in and day out.

"Are you even listening to me?" B howled, his furious rant had filled the Cave and echoed so much that now all she could hear was the bats twittering in recovering shock. B's volume had plummeted quite a bit too. Rachel was willing to be his fire had been cut short and now it was close to extinguishing.

"Of course," Rachel said anyway, even though she hadn't been. She didn't care, she'd kill if she had to. Killing was in her blood, stopping her from killing was like stopping a cow from mooing or a happy cat from purring.

B seemed to click onto her stem of thinking and sighed (or maybe he was just done, maybe he'd ran out of things to shout). It sounded tired and the glow of the monitors made him look old now, instead of horrifyingly furious. Rachel thought it looked wrong on his face, B was only in his late twenties - he shouldn't be looking like a wore out old man. If anyone held that right, it was her - at 60. A monster destined to live longer than any human had the right to.

"Go to your room, please, after you've changed." 

Rachel sighed and wandered over to the shower racks, already pulling off her claws. This would be a problem in the furture, if she wished to continue being Nightwing.

Just what she liked, a good puzzle to break the time. Her blood sizzled as Red rumbled crudely within her head.


	8. Champagne Flutes and Fluttering Ball Gowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara is invited to a Wayne Charity Gala and her dad doesn't have the heart to disagree. Somewhere, amidst the chaos of posh, rich billionaires and snobby business men, she makes a friend.
> 
> A real friend.

 

"Barbara Gordon. Jim's daughter." B nudged her, his words barely audible over the soft hum of violins playing for the gala. "Go say hello."

Rachel, dressed up in her sparkly red sequin dress, turned to refuse. To ask how she -an _ex-_ assassin- would go about possibly talking to her because last she'd checked she tended to scare away most _remotely sane_ people, but B was already gone. She brought her red gloved hand up to hide her frown (god forbid a reporter take a picture of the heir of Wayne scowling at her father's Charity Gala) as she scanned the crowd. She found B engaging in a conversation with some posh, rich man she didn't know the name of.

That really left her one option. She let her hand drop as she turned around, a fake happy smile plastered on her face once more, as she spotted Gordon. _Damn it,_ she thought as she began the walk over to the girl.

She'd befriend this girl if it was the last thing she did.

She swore on it.

 

-/-/-

 

It was known that Barbara being out of her comfort zone equalled failed social situations. In fact, it was practically a printed, set in the stone, fact by this point. Rather than someone's assumption. It was a huge, big bullet point in her no-no book.

Even worse, Barbara had been out of her comfort zone the moment she stepped out of the house and that didn't make for a happy Barbara. In fact, if she were to rate it on how she felt being there - ten being the _I feel great, it's going great_ option, one being the _I messed everything up_ one- she'd have to give herself a two on how well everything had went so far.

She felt like one wrong move would blow everything up in her face, like social outings usually did.

It wasn't like she'd never been to business outing with her father before, she'd just never been taken along to one of Mr Wayne's Galas (and this was nowhere near the level of 'business outing', this was much more important. Complete with nosey press and arrogant rich people). Apparently her name had been on the invitation and her dad hadn't wanted to ignore it, he'd said she needed _'fresh air'._ Barbara wasn't sure how being in a stuffy room with a bunch of posh-o rich people was called _'getting fresh air'._

"It's good manners." Her father had added when she'd raised an eyebrow, raising an eyebrow back at her when she said she didn't want to go. She vaguely thought about saying she was busy but that was a lie, her dad knew she wasn't busy. Barbara never was. "It's not like you've got anything better to do, right?"

She'd given in at that. Really, she had nothing better to do other than stalk the internet for that new vigilante who operated by Batman's side: _Nightwing._

Nightwing. Nothing more than a black and red blur in the sky. It had been rumoured they were female. The very prospect of a female vigilante -a _hero-_ excited Barbara beyond explanation. Sometimes, on the lonely nights when her dad wasn't yet home, still at the office at three am because the Joker was still running around ("I can't do that to them, Barb. I can't just abandon my men at three in the morning for my bed simply because I'm tired. The Joker is dangerous. Too dangerous to let this City's police sleep at night. I'm the Commissioner for a reason -to help.")... Sometimes Barbara wished she could help, become something better than _just_ the Commissioner's daughter. She wanted to be the one to deal with the Joker (well, okay, maybe not him exactly but she'd gladly deal with others), she wanted to be the one who let her dad sleep at night. She wished she could become a hero.

But she knew what that was.

Nothing more than a childish dream. It was something everyone wished for at some point, anyway. She was sure. She'd grow out of it.

"Hello there."

Barbara blinked, being pulled from her thoughts as a soft feminine voice fluttered behind her. She could've sworn she recognised it.

Turning around with a smile Barbara found Mr Wayne's only (adopted) child, Rachel Wayne, standing there. She was pretty by all the meanings of the word with her luscious, wavy black hair, her cerulean blue eyes and her petite figure making her a teenager to die for. Personally Barbara didn't know anything about her past the articles in the paper and those all said she was _'an angel of innocence'._

Barbara wasn't one for stereotyping, but usually the papers got it all wrong.

That didn't make her feel any better.

"Oh," She said, making sure to sound welcoming. Her dad might just kill her if she made Wayne's kid run away crying like she'd done to that eight year old a few weeks ago. She smiled at her. "Hey. I'm Barbara, you?"

If Wayne recognised her she didn't show it. "Rachel Wayne." Her smile was as sweet as ripe cherries and as fake as the shiny (painted) gold picture frame in her bedroom. "Nice to meet you, Barbara."

There was a lull in their conversation where both girls didn't quite know what to say. Barbara started to mentally curse her dad for bringing her and, instantly, abandoning her.

Eventually, Rachel piped up with, "What's your favourite colour?"

Barbara blinked, taken aback at the sudden question and took about moment to think. "Green, maybe." For her mum's eyes. _Yeah._ "What's yours?"

Rachel let a flicker of a vicious grin fly across her face and time slowed as Barbara caught sight of threatening sharp canines. She shook it off when everything went back to normal. Her anxiety really was a curse, sometimes. "Red, probably... You're the Commissioner's daughter, aren't you?"

Barbara couldn't help but smile back, if uneasily. She tried to hide that though. "What gave it away?" She asked. She knew it was too much to ask for the millionaires kid to know her by first name alone. "It was the hair wasn't it?"

"The name actually," That surprised her. Rachel continued, "I knew the Commissioner had a daughter named Barbara I just didn't realise it was you immediately."

It came out of her mouth before she could stop it; she laughed. "You're weird."

Barbara stopped laughing as Rachel blinked, looking more confused than anything.

_Fudging cr_ _apple sticks_ , she'd already messed up making friends with a girl she'd just met.

She scrambled to apologise. "Oh, I'm-"

Rachel burst out laughing. Startling everyone, including Barbara, around her. It wasn't the sort of quiet, shy giggle you'd expect to hear from from a girl such as her, instead it was loud and heartfelt. When she'd stopped she'd was gasping for breath and Barbara was left playing as the dumbfounded one.

"That-" She gasped, bending forward a tad as she smiled for real. "You're the first person to outright say that to my face." She straightened, still smiling, as she put a small hand on Barbara's shoulder. "You're hilarious."

Barbara didn't know what to say.

Rachel spoke for her, "I like you. You wanna come over to my place tomorrow if you're free?"

Barbara blinked, struggling to keep up. With the girls sudden mood changes had she not known for sure she wasn't, she would've assumed Rachel was bipolar or something. (Because seriously, a millionaires kid being loopy? It would make the news instantly). "Uh, sure."

Rachel's smile became smaller, grim almost, yet it stayed genuine. "Great."

With that she was gone, skipping happily back over to her dad.

Barbara stood there for a second, trying to process just what had happened. She felt like laughing when she figured it out: she'd made a friend.

By _insulting_ them.

God, she was weird.

 

-/-/-

 

Bruce heard as Rachel burst out laughing halfway across the room, immersed as he was in his conversation with a nobody rich man who thought he had a great idea. Mr Doory (that was the man's name if he remembered right, an odd one too - Marshfield Doory, some CEO for a Californian company hoping to dig down roots in Gotham) stopped speaking for a second as Rachel burst out laughing genuinely and after staring at Rachel for a second (and after a look from Bruce himself) went back to the line of conversation.

Inside Bruce felt like smiling and laughing and ( _maybe_ ) jumping about. He _knew_ Rachel would get along with Jim's daughter. They were both odd spirits, unique, and they both tended to march to their own beat (more so, Rachel in that case). And Jim _had_ mentioned how it was hard for Barbara to make friends. Bruce was sure neither of them would care a bit about the inevitable year age difference. Because as far as they (or one of them) knew: it was only by one year.

Sure enough, Rachel bounced over, the graces of a real smile on her lips as she bundled over to him. "I made a friend, daddy!" She said, cutting Doory off mid sentence uncaringly. Bruce wanted to thank her, the man was beyond annoying, going off on over-exaggerated stories that were ten times worse than Hal's. In this instant he was thankful her exaggerated childishness at these events tended to scare away most of the annoying million and billionaires that wanted to talk to him.

"Oh?" He smiled, casting what he hoped was an apologetic looking glance at the man. He put an arm around Rachel's shoulders - she was getting taller. Sprouting from the little girl who barely came up to his abs to a girl who stood just below his armpits. She'd grown exceptionally with the proper food and with her necessities fulfilled. Seventy or not, Rachel just loved to defy physics and the realm of possibility. "I assume you like Barbara then?" He asked playfully.

Rachel giggled, glancing up at him. "Yeah, she's fun. I invited her over tomorrow."

He felt a flower of pride bloom within him for his little girl. "Very good! Did she agree?"

Rachel tilted her head, looking at him as if he were a puzzle. She spoke as if it was obvious. All part of her act, Bruce knew, but still, it helped him feel like he was bonding with the usually so silent girl. "Of course, silly!"

Bruce realised he'd been ignoring Mr Doory as the man cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose we can continue this conversation later," He nodded his head. "Mr Wayne."

Bruce smiled at the man, glad to get him out of his hair. "Of course, Mr Doory. It was nice talking with you."

Rachel tugging on his sleeve brought his attention back to her, "Can we get some punch, _tata_?" She asked.

Bruce's eyes trailed up to the punch bowl: it was big, fruit filled and not at all child (well, she wasn't really a child, he reasoned) friendly. He looked down to say no when she gave him the puppy dog eyes. He sighed, past the point of arguing with that face. Resigned to his fate, he smiled. "Of course, sweetie."

She smiled as she dragged him over to the refreshments table.

God, he adored his little girl more than his heart could accept.


	9. The Team of Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel doesn't know what to think anymore, one minute she's benched, the next she's leading a bunch of kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((For anyone wondering, this is set in around 1996.))

 

_"Are you ready, my little robin?"_

_"Of course, mami!"_

_Her tătic chuckled as he ruffled her long hair. "Good because we're up next."_

_She smiled happily, jumping on the tips of her toes. "I'm so excited! I can't wait to swing with you two!"_

_Her mami and tătic laughed fondly._

_"I can tell, birdie." Mami smiled and the curtains opened._

"Stop!" She shouted, more of a gasp than anything, as she bolted upright. The blankets pooled around her waist as the moon's bright light shone in through her curtainless windows and cast shadows over her scars. It was a full moon.

A bat fluttered by her window leaving a long, sharp shadow in its wake. It's wings fluttered as it squeaked. Her heart seized at the very sound.

_Scared now, are we?_ Red whispered tauntingly.

Rachel didn't grace her with a reply as she shivered and pulled her blankets back up around herself, curling into a ball. The moon cast her shadow onto the opposite wall and Rachel stared at that, trance-like, as she mulled over her thoughts.

That was the fourth time this month she'd had that nightmare. Her parents dying, over and over again. Tonight's one wasn't as bad as normal, usually she had to stand up there on that podium and watch them fall, usually she was made to listen the the crunch of bones and the screams of the audience that followed not seconds later. Like every other time, she ignored the men who kept her back, calling for her, ignored the Wayne who stood in the crowd and left like the others, and she _usually_ ended up screaming herself awake with Cobb's smiling face signaling the end.

B wasn't there to hear her wrench her throat out and Alf was too far away, down in his self-chosen servants quarters in the furthest wing. She was fine, _fine_ for another night. All alone in a Manor that felt too cold yet to be called home.

(Not that she had ever had one.)

Instead of dwelling on memories she'd lived through for lifetimes, she let her mind wander.

She wondered what Batman was doing. If he was still patrolling - a glance at the clock, 1 AM, said he probably still was. She wondered who he'd fought, if anyone. That brought her to her next annoyance.

She'd been benched. _Benched._ B had _benched_ her over something as _simple_ as a misunderstanding (and sure, maybe it wasn't that simple but it sure as hell felt that way). Rachel didn't understand and Bats refused to explain.

Alfred was staying out of their now nine day long _misunderstanding._ He said it was a mere _squabble_. Like she hadn't secretly wept herself to sleep over paranoia of being cast out and forgotten by the world once again. Like she hadn't been shooting up right in bed, panting and minutes away from heaving.

Like she hadn't been doubting if Wayne really was a good name to have taken after all.

All of which brought her to a new topic; sidekicks. Bats insisted she was his partner the first night they'd went out and still remained firm on that detail, but he was insistent that she had to talk to people other than him, Alf and Hal (who sometimes came over to say hello with sweets). He wanted her to join a team, premature and unformed but the ideas had been in the workhouse for quite sometime and Bats believed she could lead them.

She didn't want to lead _kids._

Sure, she'd lead adults - Talons - and she was absolutely fine with that _because they were experienced._ Not that the newbie baby sidekicks _weren't_ but Rachel prefered time earned skill over less experience and dramatics. Some of those kids really were dramatic.

Kaldur'ahm, the Atlantean boy, looked promising but his stature was too firm and his skill too sloppy. He let down the fort when things got complicated and although he could lead he was terribly inexperienced with newbies. He could lead the elders, the ones who knew what was up, but not the learners. He would've been the appointed leader had she not been introduced to the equation, Rachel planned to train him to become the leader as soon as possible. So she could leave.

Roy Harper, Speedy, was an orphan adopted by Oliver Queen (a man she had yet to meet) and for his accuracy with a bow was astonishing, his temper was crude and short. He wasn't one to listen to orders and he had a track record for going off the rails. Rachel was sure there was more to him than mere recklessness but she hadn't yet met him.

Miss Martian, M'gann M'orzz, was a Martian. Much like the Manhunter, she held all the same powers and looks. She claimed to be his cousin and honestly, at this point, that excuse was getting old quick. Aside from her apparent childishness and unfamiliarity with Earth, she would be an adequate asset if she actually had control over her powers.

Kid Flash, Wally West, was young but then so were all of them. He'd been hit by a duplicate of the accident that had happened to Allen and had subsequently gained the man's same powers. Allen adopted West when his parents (Allen's wife's sister and her husband) were killed so he was now legally Wallace 'Wally' Allen. Childishness came with his age (only twelve) and his reckless nature could be dealt with and tamed.

Aside from all this, Rachel had not met any of them. She did not look forward to it. Especially since the meeting was set for Saturday at 2:30 PM which was technically later today.

A knock on her door startled her our of her thoughts. Alfred's head popped in a second later. "Morning, Mistress Rachel. It's time to get up, breakfast will be served in ten minutes."

Rachel shot the clock on her bedside table a look and groaned. She'd been up since 1, it was 8 AM now. She hadn't gotten any sleep other than those two hours before her nightmare.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

"Be nice," Bruce advised, pulling up his cowl as he buckled himself in. The Batmobile's engine revved as Rachel jumped in too, domino clutched in her hands as she pulled down the belt. "They're only kids. Allen is twelve - the youngest - while Kaldur'ahm is roughly equal to fifteen human years. They're inexperienced and have time to learn. Nothing like Talons."

Rachel didn't understand why he kept bringing up that point. Did he think she thought they were highly trained soldiers? Because she sure as hell didn't, definitely not after seeing video footage of the Kid Flash disobey orders and get his ass kicked.

She nodded anyway. "I understand."

"Good," Bruce said, lense covered eyes set dead ahead as they sped out into the tunnel under the harbor. "Because I want you to remember that this is not a punishment but an experience."

"And a great opportunity," She bleakly added. Bruce had went over this speech five times during the collective thirty minutes of breakfast. She was already sick of hearing it.

The only good bit about this all was that she got to wear her Nightwing uniform. She'd missed the way the cape hugged her and tapped at her heels whenever she walked.

"Indeed." He nodded and Rachel was tempted to tap the radio on just to tune him out. She still didn't see why _she_ had to go and why _she_ had to lead. Why not just give the Atlantean boy a chance?

_They do not respect mistakes._ Red murmured and while Rachel was annoyed at the butt in she was greatful for the point. Red had been poking her head in less and less lately too, with varying moods - one day she was snarky and snappish, the next she was smooth and calm and maybe even happy.

_You got that right_ , she responded back. _Bunch of stuck up assholes if what B spouts is true._

_He's not exactly reliable though_.

_True, true._

"We're here. Domino on." Rachel blinked herself back into the world of the living and realised she'd zoned out for at least a good forty minutes. She disliked time passing without her knowledge.

Grunting an affirmative she slipped the domino on and relished in the feel of it adjusting to her. With glee, she watched as the lenses lit up, images filtering through them as her comm sinc'd up with the fabulous tech.

Stoic and straight backed she pushed the Batmobile's door button and stepped out, face blank as the flashes of light from cameras grew ten times in intensity at her and Bats simultaneous step out. Anxiety curled in her gut like out of date milk but she pushed it down and walked on, brushing past the screaming reporters.

Two out of four were already waiting for them in the little room to the side of the main hall. Unsurprisingly, the Atlanteans and the Archers were there. The speedsters were not. The Martain was not going to be publicly announced to be on their team, she was the backup secret. The public was having a hard enough time getting over the fact Superman was an alien, why bother giving them more to complain about?

"Hey, batsy!" Green Arrow smiled, his blond moustache twitching with the motion as his beard glimmered in the light. Batman stopped a few feet away from them and Nightwing came to a halt beside him. Queen nodded to her, "Pleasure to meet you..."

"Nightwing," she said, voice low and serious. "The pleasure is yours and mine to share."

Speedy made a confused face and Nigtwing realised she'd lapsed back into her olden day talk. Arrow seemed to enjoy it though, as he laughed, looking a tad impressed.

"Some nice phrasing there, kiddo. Where'd you learn to talk like that?"

Nightwing smirked ever so slightly. "I get around." She changed the subject. Nodding to Speedy. "Pleasure to meet you as well."

Speedy spluttered and crossed his arms in a last act of defiance. "Yeah, sure."

Queen awkwardly coughed and lightly elbowed his son. Luckily for them, Nightwing didn't really care and Orion stepped up to take her hand at the same time.

"I must say," Orion grinned, his perfectly shaped teeth shined in the bleached light. "I am honoured to meet one such as yourself, ma'am."

She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. His eyebrow raised in approval. "I too am honoured, your majesty. It is not everyday someone like me gets to meet a monarch of the seas."

He smiled happily, flustered as he stepped back a step and gestured to the boy to his left. It wasn't everyday land dwellers complimented and respected another land's king. "Thank you, Nightwing. This is Aqualad, my esteemed protégé and loyal follower."

"It truly is an honour," Kaldur'ahm said, tone serious and eyes steady and firm. His grip was strong and his hands flapped. "Nightwing."

"Indeed it is," she agreed. "I have heard many a good thing about you, Ahm of Kaldur."

The boy blushed lightly at the high praise of his name. Atlantean customs were odd. "Please, just Kaldur."

"Rachel." She said and the silence reigned for a very long time.

"Rachel?" Speedy asked first. "Wait, is that your _real_ name?"

"Yes." She said. The cameras would pick up on none of this and she knew for a fact the visitors up at the window would be gone in a few seconds. The Hall of Justice was only open for a limited amount of time. "I already know all of your names, so why not let you know mine?"

Harper looked begrudgingly understanding at that. Queen opened his mouth to speak when the door flapped open and in sped the two missing speedsters.

"What've we missed?" Allen called as he stopped with a trail of lightning following him. Kid Flash was not as lucky and ended up skidding to a halt, digging two very ugly marks into the carpet.

Rachel knew for a fact that this carpet was rare and cost over two hundred thousand dollars. Bruce knew that too (because he'd paid for it) and it showed on his face.

"Ah!" Kid squeaked, zipping around as he scuffed his shoes over the marks trying to make them vanish. They didn't look like they were going to any time soon. "OhmygoshI'msosorryIdidn'tmeantodothatIjust--"

"Kid!" Allen said, laying his hand on the boys shoulder. He smiled reassuringly, "It's fine, it's only a carpet. It can be fixed."

Nightwing watched them for a second, taking in the happy smiles and the obvious trust between the adopted father and son. She and B held no trust that she was aware of, unless it had been gained during the time which she'd fainted which she was unsure of. That suggetion alone was highly improbable.

B saved her the pain of dwelling on it, as he cleared his throat. Immediately, the two speedsters glanced over at him, matching cheeky grins on their faces as they blushed in good-natured embarrassment.

"Sorry for being late," Allen said.

"And for ruining the carpet," Kid added sheepishly.

"Let's get on with this." Bats announced, avoiding looking at the carpet for too long before it became obvious he was cringing at having to get a new one. Rachel smirked to herself. "The visitors are gone. The cameras are off. Introductions."

A firm glance to Flash had him nudging his son who gave the flustered look of a lamb at his highlighted position.

"Uh- um.. Wally. I'm Wally, Kid Flash otherw-wise." Rachel resisted the second smirk that pulled at her lips from the way Allen held his back breakingly straight. He pulled back his cowl to reveal a freckled face to match the ginger-red hair. His hair kinda reminded Rachel of Barbara's, only hers was a much deeper red whereas Wally's was more ginger.

"It is an honour for you all to be my first friends on land," Kaldur was saying as Rachel tuned in again. He bowed a little which she thought was cute. "I am Kaldur'ahm. I hope to help you all."

"Miss Martain will be here later, along with J'onn." B grunted, looking meaningfully to her.

Rachel gave a quirk of the brow and peeled off her mask.

"Rachel Wayne. Nightwing."

Silence for all of two seconds.

"You're a Wayne!?" Wally screetched instantly, getting a well mannered whack on the head from his adoptive father.

"Indeed," she said at the same time as B growled, "This information does not leave this room. Understood?"

Wally squeaked, "Sir, yes, sir!"

Wally offered her an excited grin.

"Wondered how long it'd take you to get a kid on your path, Bats." Queen smirked, resting his hands on his hips. Rachel shared a wicked smirk with B for all of three seconds before all threes League Communicators pinged. At a shared galnce they excused themselves over to the corner of the room.

Harper cleared his throat, desperate in trying to start up the conversation none of the other boys cared much for.

Rachel nodded for him to go as the group shifted to the seats. Wally dropped down into one of them with a whoosh, Kaldur with a simple awe and Rachel with silent grace. Harper shifted awkwardly over to the final chair around the coffee table and lowered himself into it.

"Roy Harper. I'm Speedy." His mask came off to reveal two gleaming blue eyes. Rachel looked at them a second longer than she should've, remarking mentally that they were nice. Harper caught her gaze and gritted his teeth, looking away. "14."

"Oh!" Wally smiled, "I'm 12."

"My age is equivalent to 15 human years," Kaldur smiled.

Rachel paused. How old was she?

"Around 60, I believe."

Harper gave her an odd look as Wally laughed, thinking it was a joke. Kaldur did nothing but nod.

"You look well," Kaldur smiled jestingly.

"Yeah right," Harper snipped, attitude peeking through. "As if she's 60; You don't look a day over 17."

"The public believe I am 16," she replied, not at all offended by the boys mistake. "I was The Talon before Bats appeared. I age slower than most, if not _all_ , humans."

Wally whistled, "Sweet."

"I take that to mean you will be the leader, Rachel?" Kaldur said her name like it was the most precious thing in his world. It made Rachel feel a tad more wanted, if not flustered.

"Indeed," she agreed, bundling her domino up in her hands as she looked down at it. "I have led before."

"So?" Harper snipped. "That doesn't mean you'll definitely be able to lead _us._ "

"Quite true, kid." She said, he glowered at the name. "But right now I'm the only one with experience in this little group so you'll listen to me or get your ass kicked. I'll let you decide which one you want to do first."

Harper quietened and sunk back into his seat, blue eyes alight with frustration, just as the huge monitor buzzed to life, drawing everyone's attention.

"Superman to Batman, repeat, Superman to Batman - Zatanna has requested backup. The sun's about to explode."

Rachel settled herself into the seat more comfortably and listened intently as everyone's heartbeats sped up in panic.

"I was going to attend to a CADMUS Labs fire but this is bigger. Any one able to pop in for a little damage control?"

"It's been dealt with, Clark." B grunted. "We'll be up with you in a bit, Batman out."

Superman's serious face vanished from the monitor as it went black. Rachel knew exactly what B was thinking as he turned to them importantly.

"It seems you've got your first mission; CADMUS Labs in Metropolis seems to need a bit of help."

Rachel sighed and resigned herself to her fate. Wally cheered.


	10. Cent Dix, Cent Onze or Cent Douze?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From leading kids to finding a big secret deep in the bowles of the earth, Rachel doesn't know where it all ends.
> 
> (I apologise for my bad French in the title.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this story in a while. Sorry.
> 
> But that means double update! Yes, such a rare occurrence I say, indeed. And what is this? A CLIFFHANGER? 
> 
> Dun-dun-duuunnnnn!!
> 
> (Drama lies ahead, mainly in the second part tho...)

 

Wallace was grinning like a mad man. He knew it, that dude Kaldur'ahm knew it, the grumpy one -Roy- knew and so did Rachel Wayne.

Everything was moving just perfectly; fast. Just the way he liked it.

Not only was he part of a team, he'd also met a Wayne and _Nightwing!_ Even better - they were the _same person._

Who would've thought Rachel Wayne, the adopted daughter of Bruce Wayne (who was Batman), could be Nightwing?

Definitely not Wally.

That was probably why the ruse worked.

Batman really was a genius.

Anyway, back on track. Not only was he in a team with Nightwing, an Atlantean, and an archer, they were also getting -and now currently on- their very first mission.

 _Ever_.

To cut it short and make it quick, Wally was very excited.

Immensely so.

 _Immensely_ , he thought as he ran up the side of the burning building. It was only the top two floors anyway. _What_ _ _a nice word.__

He'd learnt it in English, Mrs Thompson really was nice. She was probably the nicest teacher he knew, except for maybe that Science teacher he'd had back in 4th grade - Mr Burrows, they'd called him. He'd been the one to encourage Wally to explore and experiment and was half the reason why Wally'd mixed magnesium with some food dye for his mid-term experiment.

Nothing had happened but still, Wally'd liked him while he'd been his teacher.

//Kid!\\\ Nightwing's voice rustled over the comm link in Wally's ear. He stopped running. //What are you doing?\\\

Wally blinked and found himself on the roof. He'd been there a second longer than he should've been so he picked up the speed again and swerved down the wall to hop into the smashed window Kaldur'ahm had made to put out the fire.

"I was clearing the roof!" He responded, remembering the time his unc-- _dad_ had told him to respond like you were doing something useful if caught goofing off. He'd said it might impress someone enough for you to be able to scrape clear of the implications.

//There was nothing to clear on the roof from the start, Kid.\\\ 'Wing snapped back, Wally cast his eyes about him and caught a brief glance of the girl -or was she technically a woman?- doing something to one of the elevators.

"I was making sure!" He protested, finally doing his designated job and picking a lab worker up to speed down outside.

//Make sure quicker then, next time.\\\ She said as Wally helped Aqualad clear the building. The firefighters thanked him before Wally zoomed back up to rejoin his team.

He was part of a _team_!

"What's this?" He heard Nightwing mutter just as some sketchy looking blueprints popped up on her holographic display that her gauntlet projected.

Kaldur'ahm leaned in closer, "It seems this building has more floors than we originally thought."

"And that would be how many?" Speedy asked, walking up behind where Wally stopped, bow clutched loosely in his hand. Wally was pretty sure that, yes, Roy's hair was dripping wet with water.

"Around 112," Nightwing hummed, tapping at the display.

"What happened your hair, dude?" Wally couldn't help asking in the silence.

Speedy scowled at Aqualad as said teen laughed.

"I had a hiccup in gaining control of the firemen's water."

Wally laughed with Kaldur'ahm. Roy shook his hair like a dog, getting them both sprayed, before he walked on over to the elevator.

"This looks like one of those express elevators."

"That's because it is one." 'Wing said, finally looking up as something dinged. Right on que, the doors opened.

Wally backtracked. "Wow, hold up. I thought the plan was get in, help, then get out."

"You're right, Allen," Nightwing agreed pausing in the lift, gauntleted fingertips inches away from plugging her hacking wire into the number panel. Wally smiled for a second, relieved, until, "that was the plan. It has since evolved, will any of you be joining me?"

"W-what?" He gaped as Speedy shrugged and joined her.

"You heard the woman," Roy hissed. "Either get in or get out."

Kaldur'ahm paused for a moment before sighing and giving Wally a look.

"This may be a chance to prove ourselves," the older boy said, planting images inside Wally's head. "Perhaps we could gain more trust this way? We could prove ourselves."

"Fine, just because you all asked nicely." Wally joined them. Nightwing hit a spot on her screen. The door slammed shut.

 

-/-/-

 

Roy had never been a fan of elevators. Ever since he'd been young elevators had been a show of power, of money. Roy's family had had a rough kickoff in life, his mom not being able to do what she wanted to do job wise, forcing her to get acrappy, chep job thanks to her depression, and his father not getting anywhere past till worker in the local kiosk.

Things had been rough for the couple years Roy had been there. He remembers that much. Then, he'd been put up for adoption, and he'd spent most of his 14 years in that shitty dump of a boys home.

Oliver had been a blessing in disguise.

The billionaire had came in the guise of an archery competition, by chance Roy had competed in and won.

Later that week, Oliver had came round to visit him - the grand prize that sat on a side line to the bag of chocolate. That visit turned into a weekly hour trip, then it turned into days out. About 10 months after first meeting him, Oliver asked Roy if he would be his son.

He'd agreed and here he was.

Standing in a fucking elevator in some getup that not even kids from his old neighbourhood would wear for Halloween. With a bow and a quiver of arrows.

What had he done in a past life to deserve this?

Roy didn't bother asking.

"Votes: 110, 110 or 112?" Rachel fucking Wayne asked from her spot beside the button panel. Her gloves' USB wire was still hooked into the hatch.

"110!" The redhead called, yellow suit shining repulsively in the mirrors that flanked them.

"I suggest 113," said the tanned boy with gills who Roy definitely wasn't still holding a grudge against for soaking his hair.

"Very funny, Kal. 112's the last floor so I'll take that as your answer." Wayne snarked, she sent Roy a glance. "What about you, Archer?"

"112."

She nodded and a few minutes later the elevator stopped. In big red numbers it said 112.

"Aww." The fast brat whined, looking for an affirmative before zipping out to do recon. Roy had to admit, for the kids age, he knew the basics pretty well.

He came back a few seconds later, babbling a mile a minute. "-big, big weird monsters and huge giant things in these weird pod-things-" he was saying. "-I thought they were asleep or something but there's these little alien things on their shoulders and they're glowing and they hum really weird and I just- there's a door and it's locked, I know because I tried to--"

"Silence," Wayne said and instantly the brat shut his trap. She cocked her head to the side and her lenses glowed as they scanned the hallway they walked out into.

"Where did you go?" Wayne asked as they came to a pitch fork. The walls coiled and were lumpy with odd bumps that Roy firmly steered clear of.

"Both ways," the kid said. "Left is that weird room, right is some huge wardrobe-thing - a dead end."

"Left then," she said and started walking in the shadows. Kaldur'ahm took up the rear awkwardly as Kid Flash zipped nervously by Wayne's side, then over to the middle of the room, then back over to the woman's side. Wayne hissed something at him that Roy didn't hear and the kid slowed down to a complete stop, sedately walking off to the left of their group.

"What in the world?" Kaldur'ahm said, surprising Roy with his vocabulary range. Roy turned and cringed at the sight of some creature curled up in a pod. The entire wall was lined with them, some climbing the wall even. It was disgusting. "What are these?"

Wayne took one look at some tall slender blue man with weird-ass horns and scowled. "They definitely aren't human,"

"Obviously," Roy snarked right back, arrow hitched on his bow. He was ready for anything.

And yet he wasn't ready for the thing in the pod that they'd huddled around opening its eyes.


	11. CADMUS Shadmus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CADMUS are a bunch of secretive asshats.

 

Kid reacted first, screaming loudly as the blue humanoid thing reached out for him, breaking the bubble pod with a soft pop. The Atlantean reeled back, sticking up his water sticks protectively as the entire line of what had to be 20, popped out too. Wayne looked around and motioned meaningfully to the door closest to them before discharging a smoke bomb. Roy followed a second later.

Nightwing had the door open in a matter of seconds with the rest of them hurrying in after. They paused at the sight of a human boy in a longer pod. A huge K emblazoned on the front.

"Creepy," Kid squeaked, flashing around the room as if he were looking for a way out. Sure enough, "There's no other ways out."

"It seems we are stuck here for a while then," the Atlantean said. "I wonder what they do."

As he said this, Kaldur'ahm motioned towards the alien looking creature like just like Wally's description had glowing horns and emanated a humming sound.

"They are the G-Gnomes." A voice, silken and low, said from behind. Roy turned with a jump, arrow notched, as Wally and Kaldur'ahm went with a shout. Wayne was silent, as if she'd been expecting something, but the quiver in her hands that held her swords said otherwise.

Roy held back his disgusted sneer as he seen the humanoid blue figure. Thin and scrawny with horns sitting on his egg-like head, Roy didn't dare lower his guard. The white dress that seemed too much like a hospital gown flowed in an unseen breeze.

"Please," he said, motioning downwards with his hands, trying to act peaceful. "I am not here to cause harm, merely to warn you all."

Roy found it ironic the thing didn't claim it was harmless.

"I do take questions," he said, smiling now. Roy involuntarily took a step back. He's ashamed to say he would've dipped had Wayne not given him a look somewhere between a glare and an order.

"Why is this here?" Kaldur'ahm asked first, water bearers clutched in gilled hands.

"Under CADMUS?" The thing asked. "Why it is because this is CADMUS' Project. That is why."

"Then why not do it where everyone can see?" The Kid asked and the thing laughed.

"Secrecy is sometimes good, my child," it said and the door behind him burst open. Roy became painfully aware of the fact that the room was probably sound proofed.

Huge hulking monsters, muscled-like-tanks, tusks by their mouths like elephants, roared like horrific creatures of horror movies. Roy honestly had to hand it to the sound proofing - it had to be good if none of them heard _any_ of _this._

"Stand down!" The Guardian called, golden helmet reflecting the red lockdown lights painfully. Roy wondered when the lockdown had even went off. "You kids are trespassing on private property!"

"W-well about that.." Kid started, wringing his hands nervously. He was about to spill- he was about to _spill_ \--

Wayne kicked Wally to shut him up, throwing a small metal ball at the Guardian's feet. Roy yelped at the sudden smoke that exploded outwards and made everything cower.

A hand tugged at him, strong and desperate, and Roy went with the flow as the Atlantean's slippery hand clutched at his shoulder and pushed him along too. They ended up in the vents, cold and shivering as the monstrous troops scuttled along beneath them, unaware of their presence as they babbled along in some weird language.

"What do we do?" Wally asked, the whites of his mask shining in the dim light source that came from Wayne's gauntlet. Said woman was tapping quietly away at it, as she had been for the past few minutes, she'd already attempted to call the League and had been met with nothing but barriers and static. Nothing would get through these walls and that alone made Roy's heart race.

"We will need to move soon," said Kaldur'ahm, shifting ever so slightly. "Before they find us."

"Indeed," Wayne said, speaking hushed and quiet. Roy was sure the panic he heard was a figment of his imagination.

It had to be.

"We can't risk being caught, any and all stealth tactics are to be employed."

Her voice stayed firm this time and Roy settled his eyes on the rise and fall of her chest. Technically if she looked 16 that was okay, right?

"Archer," she snapped suddenly, voice louder than it had been a few seconds before. Roy's eyes snipped up and he realised belatedly that he'd been staring at her boobs. "Answer the question."

Roy's mind ran a thousand miles as his mouth ran dry. "What was the question?"

Wayne seemed rushed, "Can you hit the gnomes that sit on their shoulders?"

Roy thought of the small gimpy creatures and shivered. "Of course."

"Good," Roy had been wrong before, she seemed annoyed. Frustrated, even. Wayne clicked on her projected screen and showed them a live feed of the camera directly below them. "This is a live feed from below us, I think that these _G-Gnomes_ are acting as a communication network, supplying all of these things with an up to date take on the situation at hand. We take out a couple and everyone will know so we have to make this fast."

"Why must we take a few out?" Kaldur'ahm asked, voicing everyone's question. "I thought the goal at hand was to get out alive."

Wayne hissed, snarking, "Of course it is. The chances of survival are higher if we buy ourselves time and aren't running out there in the open, so that means we have to give them a blackout zone. At the very least if we take out a couple at once we can temporarily take down this part of the network and make it through undetected."

"But if we do this we'll have been detected anyway," Kid protested.

"But only by the few below us." Wayne said and Roy spared the feed another glance. There were seven of then down there, all small human sized foot soldiers that had odd claw like hands. Their gnomes eyes were closed, bodies like hummingbirds as they glowed.

"That is better than all of them. Of course, the others will know we were here but they won't know exactly where if we do this right."

Roy had to admit, she made a good point.

"We got a good game plan, then?" He asked, tapping his bow nervously.

"There's a vent to your left, Archer." Wayne announced, "We'll pull that up and you'll hit as many gnomes as possible at the same time that I drop down along with Aqualad. Kid Flash'll stay up here until the gnomes are all out, if any do go off - don't hold back. If we fail, it's death and torture that awaits."

Roy shivered and they pulled the vent up.

 

-/-/-

 

Noise exploded in her ears as the vent lifted and as one, Rachel and her team cursed and slunk low. They'd been found too soon.

"Out!" Nightwing ordered, watching as Harper jumped out the vent opening. Lights were flashing - big bright lights that spelled death if found. They couldn't afford to be caught so they had to run.

That was okay. Rachel knew how to run. What she didn't know was if the others did too.

Soft little taps drew her attention, almost too quiet to be heard over roars and alarms but she heard it. Something was in the vents too, searching for them no doubt.

Rachel despised the way her heart pulsed like she was dead in the making. They'd make it out of this. _They had to._ She didn't want to die. Not yet, not so soon after getting out into the real world, not after—  _after_ _eveything_...

Allen made a noise as he followed Harper through and probably came face to face with the soldiers. They were running out of time, Rachel knew as she tapped Kaldur'ahm reassuringly on the back.

"Go," she said and frowned as he didn't. He was frozen in place, shaking - Rachel didn't have time for it so she pushed him and herself out, sealing the vent just as two beady red eyes appeared at the end of the corridor.

She hit the ground, collapsing into a roll just as Allen zipped by her, carting something over his back and tumbling it into the sturdy concrete wall. The green thing went limp and Rachel avoided looking at it as her stomach floated up into her mouth.

Harper shouted something but the sound was dimmed by everything and Rachel couldn't tell until it was too late that the soldiers were retreating.

With Kaldur'ahm still frozen, hovering in the corner like a fish out of water, Rachel spared him a dash of sympathy and sprinted forwards. Stuttering to a stop when a door slammed down right in front of her nose.

"What's happening?" Allen shouted over _noise_ _noise_ _noise_. There were things stomping in the corridors around them, loud roars echoing, the thing in the vents skittered evilly and retreated back a bit before it started banging through the metal and wall.

Rachel sucked in a breath and hollowly realised that this was all her fault. If she hadn't have went on and urged the younger ones to explore because she was impatient from being benched they all wouldn't be here.

Her eyes prickled and she swallowed her spit as Wally repeated himself, "What's happening?"

He sounded scared.

Rachel silently begged his father for forgiveness that would not be reaped.

Gas poured into the room from unseen holes and Rachel couldn't help but close her eyes and pretend it wasn't real. God how she wished it wasn't. Allen buckled into himself as Harper sunk low against the wall. Kaldur'ahm leaned into it and put up no fight.

Her eyes opened suddenly, not realising when she'd closed them, and Rachel gasped, realising the gas didn't work against her. It was tinged with the sickly smell of electrum.

She coughed, legs shaking as she pulled herself upright with the help of nothing but the floor. It was hard but she managed to stand, body quivering in the familiar way it did when she interacted with electrum. She felt weak, _weak,_ stupidly and terribly _weak_. Her heart beat betrayed her and rang in her ears, shorting out half her hearing as she gasped to herself.

Rachel wondered what CADMUS was doing to have electrum gas in their pockets, ready to be deployed within seconds. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good.

She coughed again, this time her throat going dry as she was forced to spit.

_**TAP** _ _**TAP T** _ _**AP** _

Rachel looked up, heart pounding at the sound. It echoed, carving out the layout and walls of the room and it scorched into her soul, making her feel heavy with the weight of fear.

A thing burst through the metal door, slamming to a halt in front of her. Rachel's eyes widened as the white suit gleamed in the smoke and red light. The K burned like an emblazoned mark that screamed _death, pain, doomed._

Rachel didn't bother to beg as his fist whipped out and hit her in the side of the head.


	12. The Kids Aren't Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of torture, tried to not delve into it too much but my head went awry.
> 
> Deficiency from Canon dead ahead if I haven't driven away from it enough.
> 
> Ps. I don't own Batman or DC or anybody.

 

She opened her eyes to the tinted side of a sealed pod. Something dangerous welling up inside of her chest before she even fully took in the scene. It felt like hell had plunged it's unforgiving depths of torment into her bones and had swelled there, bubbling and corroding her from the inside. In simple terms, she felt terrible.

Kaldur'ahm was stretched out, back straight, on a metal table. Wires leapt and tangled around him, his eyes closed. A pained grimace painted his face and Rachel would've tightened her fists and struggled had the needles poking into her veins not tightened and drawn blood.

The world swirled and the shadow of the thing that punched her into oblivion appeared in front of her, sneering as she stared into the cascading fire of his eyes.

He felt no remorse, she could tell. Only anger and seething. A lust for revenge.

She shivered at the pure emotion that swelled in those orbs. The needes and their lines shook with her and pulled down painfully. A voice spoke and the K moved away.

"How good to see you awake, Nightwing." A man, gaudy and grey haired with a white lab coat strode into her view. Dr. Conners, Rachel realised him as, she'd seen his profile in the system. He was a scientist, researching god knows whatever CADMUS deemed as _top secret._ "It is _Nightwing,_ right? The public don't see much of you, I'm afraid, so I'm not entirely sure."

Rachel kept quiet, balling her hands into fists under the shaded part of the pod screen. She wondered what they'd pumped into her to make her feel so damn sluggish.

"Ah, don't worry," Conners hummed, nodding along as if she'd actually spoken. "I understand it's hard to do much now but don't worry! I won't be playing around with you just yet anyway."

A _G-Gnome_ jumped onto his shoulder amd sat there like one of the gargoles that guarded Wayne Tower. Rachel squished down the rising panic that loomed ominously like a tsunami rearing up, ready to strike.

"In fact," Conners continued, walking away to circle the table where Kaldur lay prone. "Your little Atlantean friend is what currently intrigues me."

This time hot, red panic rushed through her veins like water through a tap. Rustled movement drew her eyes to her left and she found two more pods, identical to her own in which Harper and Allen were cuffed in too. Like her, their arms were held under the half screen of the pod and wires arched above them. Two metal strips were buckled over their chests, keeping them held back.

Rachel wondered why they hadn't done that to her too but she didn't dare ask.

Harper, clearly of a clearer mind, struggled in his cuffs and shouted something that Rachel's ears were ringing too much to hear. Whatever he said, Conners laughed and picked up a scalpel.

Kaldur screamed as the small, sharp blade cut into him and Rachel felt sick, unable to look away as Conner split his forearm's skin in two. He pulled up a tray of needles and took blood from each vein as was possible and while he was at it, stuck his scalpel down and cut out a bit of muscle.

He screamed again and Harper's betrayed howl followed him for time. Allen was silent but he shook and his head hung low. Rachel couldn't believe the man had the gall to do this in front of her, she'd kill him - _she'd rip out his throat and she'd enjoy it. When that was done and he was choking on his blood she'd pull out his intestines and feed them to him, watching as they wiggled through the gaping hole in his throat. She'd kill him and--_

Electricity arched around her and Rachel screamed, back bending off the cold back of the pod as the volts speared through her like a dagger through skin.

Conners shook his head, looking sad. "Now, now, Nightwing. We can't have you getting angry, now can we?"

He smirked at her disbelieving glare, "What? You think I haven't heard of the Court of Owls?" He laughed and the crooked, brittle sound sent body wracking shivers up her spine. "Yes, they seem like such good soldiers too. I've been pushing CADMUS to find a few for me but the ones we've caught all self-destructed within seconds of being caught."

Rachel coughed as she choked on her spit. Conners sighed, "Such a shame those were. We worked so hard to get them, too." His deary expression turned proud and horrifiyingly happy. "But now I've got you, so I can experiment as much as I want!"

The scalpel dived down and nicked a vein that Rachel knew meant Kaldur would bleed out in minutes. Slowly, Conners glanced down at it, made a face and shrugged. "Well, that was fun while it lasted."

He bent over his tray of tools, each horrific and gruesome in apearance and no doubt usage too. Kaldur whined pitifully as Conners brought up a long cylinder-shaped metal object. Rachel swallowed at the sight of it and forced herself to look away, grief boiling in her stomach. She knew what this one did, she knew and she wished she didn't.

Kaldur screamed louder this time, for so long that even Harper grew tired in his struggles and sagged low. Allen spared the table and Kal a glance and looked down quicker than Rachel had ever seen him move.

Rachel didn't look.

Conners broke into hysterical laughter suddenly and swung around the cylinder-like object, shaped too much like an oversized syringe for anyone's liking. "Look what I got, look what I got!" He sing-songed, bouncing around like a maniac. "I spy with my little eye an Atlantean eye!"

Rachel swallowed the bile that rose. Allen, from the sound of it, wasn't so lucky.

 

-/-/-

 

The boy shivered in the Batmobile's passenger seat and Batman felt a tad of remorse that he had no blankets on him. He glanced over and regretted it immediately, the image of the girl that was meant to sit there lingering in his mind's eye.

Nightw- _no,_ Rachel had been missing for two days. Batman should've known something would go wrong, surrounding a seventy year old Talon with a bunch of kids but he'd gotten carried away by Allen and Queen's nagging to do something with their overly enthusiastic kids that he'd pushed his daughter along, regardless of weither she wanted to do it or not.

The worst thing was, no distress signal had been received. Whether or not one had been sent was a different matter all together.

"Master Batman," Alfred's voice crackled over the inner radio of the Batmobile and Batman tensed. Alfred knew he'd picked up a boy and knew bot to call unless it was important. (Ivy had been wreaking havoc downtown and Batman had returned to the sight of the boy stealing - _or trying to-_ his tyres)

"Copy," he grunted, keeping his voice low but not so gravelly as to hurt his throat. God knew he had to keep the gravel for the League or else they all sat around like idiots. The only reason he'd left his Cave (more importantly, his _computer_ ) was because he didn't trust any of them to deal with things in his City.

Complete dickwads the lot of them.

"It seems the weather is quite nice over in Metropolis today," Alfred said, awfully non-sequitur like. Not that it was odd for him, it just stood out in a time where urgency was key. "Superman remarked on that himself, in fact."

It clicked and Batman got ready to hit the speed, he'd intended to take the kid to the Cave ( _what?_ He liked the brat's spunk) but that could wait if Alfred was saying what he thought he was.

"Is that so?" He said, _what's happened?_

"Nightwing's distress signal was picked up by the Satellites computer." Alfred said and the line went dead because Alfred knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be speaking now of all times.

Batman hit the speed, aiming straight for the nearest zeta-tube. Seems he was headed for Metropolis.

Goddamnit he _hated_ Metropolis.

He spared the boy beside him a look, saw him staring, and snapped his gaze back to the road. And he had a tag-along too.

Great.

Batman pushed that to the side and focused on saving his partn no- his _daughter_. He focused on saving his daughter.


	13. Reap My Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one night. Damn you guys are spoiled. Went over this entire book and realised it's complete shite so I understand why nobody seems to comment.
> 
> R&R rejuvenates my soul. Send help in the form of feedback.
> 
> Warnings: Death. Character death. (I'm sorry)

 

"Take the body to the incinerator," Conners said and Rachel could've cried.

The boy was dead. Dead and as he'd bled out he'd murmured things, so many things, from curses for the Doc, mantras in Atlantean tongue and wishes for them, they lined Rachel's ears and kept her mind buzzing with grievious sorrow.

Kaldur'ahm was dead and Rachel hadn't even known him a day. And that wasn't even the worst part, the worst part was that she'd watched it.

Rachel, and Allen, and Harper, had watched him die. Watched him bleed out and they'd stood there, bound and sore, but still, they'd stood there and watched. _Watched._

She watched now, with Allen in a fitful drug induced sleep and Harper somewhere between heaven and hell, as the soldiers -weird muscled green-blue things with soft horns curving along their jaws and arching along the tip of their heads- picked up his body and prepared to cart him away. Kaldur's head had lolled to the left when he'd lost his grip, eyes still open as his lips turned blue with time.

It was horrible. The sight was horrible. Everything was horrible.

Rachel thanked whoever was listening Allen hadn't been awake. She didn't know what she'd do if- if--

This whole team thing was off, she'd already decided. B wasn't going to push her into this again, she'd leave if she had to but under no circumstances would she be part of a team ever again. Partners she could do, team members she could not.

Allen could kick and scream all he wanted and Harper could complain and moan but Rachel wouldn't come back. _Never again,_ she muttered and Red popped up and tried to sooth her from the brink of tears.

It didn't work and as she fell on Red for an emotion crutch, the pod wall proved to be as cold as ever even with her constantly leaning against it. The tears ran down her checks, collected in her mask, ran through a gap in the glue and dripped to the ground. Her head dropping low and hanging there as the soldiers shuffled by, Kaldur'ahm clutched carelessly in their grip.

She sucked in a breath that didn't help anyone -it never would, not now, not with Kal dead and the other two incapacitated- and pretended she could still feel the cold, gnawing feeling of guilt-ridden realisation that had long ago formed. She was the one who'd killed Kal and doomed them all.

It had been _her._

Numbness met her head on and as she tackled for emotion, Conners entered the room, K trailing behind him like a lovesick puppy.

"Aww," he said and Rachel's head snapped up, neck twanging and checks burning from both tears and surprise. "How sad, is our little Talon _crying?"_

He said it so viciously, with so much contempt and anger and seething that Rachel's bones tingled and Red growled within. Red stepped forward in her mindscape and said she'd protect her.

Conners laughed cruelly as she didn't respond. Then, a G-Gnome jumped onto his shoulder and glowed fiercely.

"Ah," he said, and nodded. He turned to K, "One of my assistants needs a little helping hand, watch her."

With that, he strode out of the room, leaving Rachel alone with K.

 

-/-/-

 

One definitely couldn't say K was dead, or emotionless, but the way he stood in front of her for a good three minutes, watching her mutely, gave Rachel the impression he was just a bit dull without the help of a G-Gnome.

Five minutes later, when it seemed Conners wasn't coming back any time soon, K stirred.

"You are..." it - _he?-_ said, shifting his stance out minutely. He trailed off. Embarrassingly Rachel hiccuped, the tears now dry on her face. He jumped and squinted at her face. "...Crying?"

Rachel didn't answer.

He blinked and looked around the lab-room-type-thing before disappearing from view. He came back holding her belt and swords.

"Yours?" He asked, and this time Rachel nodded, feeling drunk as her head swayed and the world spun at sudden movement.

"Yes?" He tried to clarify.

"Yes," she gave in, voice cracking as she croaked out the syllable. Her throat hurt and she wished she could swallow something other than her own spit.

K nodded and pulled open the right cylinder that was a transmitter in disguise of aesthetics. He glanced up at her and she stared back, eyes wide behind her amazingly still on mask.

He hit the button and something pinged on her gauntlet.

It had worked.

It had worked when her previous attempt in the vents had not.

"Signals are allowed through here," K said. "Conners likes listening to the radio in his private study, so the walls have to allow it through and out."

Rachel swore if she didn't wake up from this absurd fantasy dream she'd choke to death.

"You have a name?" She said, and reveled in the proud feeling that welled up within as she didn't slur too much.

K blinked, delving into a deep bow that Rachel was sure was intended for humours sake. "K, at your service."

"Why mine?" She asked the question she wouldn't have if she was fully in the ring, "Why do you talk to me? And help?"

K smiled so softly. Rachel got the feeling he hadn't learnt that from Conners. "There are good people out there and bad people," he said. "You can decide which one to be."

Then he nodded to her, crushed the belt into pieces and snapped the swords over his knee. Rachel spluttered as he smirked at her and walked over to the control panel for the electric shocks.

She couldn't even scream as her muscles contacted and _burned._

The tears ran anew. Stunted but anew.


	14. The Core Is On The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14 already. Wowowo. I mean, I said I'd update like every week tho, didn't I? And this has been out for 5 months so that means we should have roughly 20 chaps.
> 
> Ahaha. Oops.

 

Bruce pulled up outside of CADMUS and met the grim faces that nodded to him. The Core were all here, each one grim despite not all having met Rachel yet.

He hauled himself out of the Batmobile, not sparing the kid a glance as he jumped out with the agility of a cat. Jason was the boy's name and he'd insisted on helping out so Bruce had thrown him one of the adjustable dominos and one of Rachel's capes that'd been cut in half the last time they'd duelled with Two-Face.

All in all, the kid had made a decent costume that covered his nameless identity and was sadly perfect enough that Batman had no reason other than protesting he was merely a child to not let him go. Even then, Jason was a stubborn boy with a sharp, unforgiving wit. He'd thrown right back at him that Nightwing didn't look any older than twenty. (Apparently the boy also considered 20 to be a child but Bruce let it go.)

He was a good fighter too. Batman knew that, his thigh still twinged from where the kid had startled and kicked him in surprise.

And Jason _was_ as stubborn as a mule. So Batman let him tag along.

As a sidekick only.

"B," Hal nodded, offering Jason a strained smile. Bruce silently thanked him that he didn't bring up the fact he'd never seen the boy before. "Transmission came from a hundred plus feet deep down under and cut off not even ten seconds in. If _she's_ been caught... our best bets are to assume the kids are dead."

The words stirred the others, who'd crowded round, and the fear became tangible as they shifted. No one wanted a dead child on their hands, and for the public to find out, nevermind the press -if it did unfortunately happen they'd have to keep it on the down low. A death could spell disaster for hero and villain alike.

"We need in, quick and fast or official?" Barry stopped to ask before they all stormed in. Batman was honestly surprised Clark hadn't tried pushing this off by noting how Metropolis was usually so quiet and CADMUS so inconspicuous.

"Official at first," Diana said, leading the brisk charge with Batman and Jason -"Hmm, my codename'll be _Robin_!"- hot on her tail. "We'll mix it up if they protest."

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The lady, _Jan_ _ice_ according to her nametag, at reception didn't exactly allow them entry or access but Barry got the feeling she'd been too intimidated by Bruce's constant angry scowling rather than anything else and had just pushed them onwards to get the seven -eight (sorta) if you counted the kid Bruce had brought along- heroes out of her hair.

Honestly, Barry didn't degrade her for it. It was an unspoken thing that an angry Bruce was a scary Bruce.

And the kid said man had brought along? No one mentioned him, either out of fear for that glare being placed accussingly upon them or worry for the other missing (by _two days_ ) kids, Barry didn't know what the others were using for their excuse but he knew he was sticking firm to the latter.

It wasn't even an excuse.

His _son_ had been missing for _two days_.

Two days too long.

He just hoped -with his soul, his being and all his willpower (even if that was more Hal's forte)- that they weren't too late.

"Yo, Bats!" The kid called - _Robin_ , had he said? His words drew attention to him like a moth to a flame only because everyone else had fallen into an uneasy silence as they searched the floors for _anything_ suspicious. "Isn't this one'o those 'xpress 'vators?"

Barry glanced to what he was pointing to and relaxed upon finding he didn't have to work out what the kid had said through his thick Dead End accent. It was an elevator. An express elevator.

Aka, an elevator that looked way too expensive to be in some lab and testing facility. It was one of those ones that travelled through like a hundred floors in a few seconds too if Barry remembered right.

Now _that_ was suspicious.

Barry wondered how none of them had seen it before. How ironic of them, relying on a kid to find some more kids.

The thought alone set a feeling in his stomach like a boulder had been dropped in it.

"Good eye," Bruce said, stunning them all with his praise. The boy didn't show any outward surprise but preened under the gauntlet that ruffled his shaggy black hair.

The elevator was open within seconds of Bruce's cable being slid into the wires behind the broken off panel. He grunted as they all filled in, (minus Kal who claimed he'd keep watch).

"Nightwing's been here."

The words instantly pulled their defenses up. Barry's teeth worried at his lip, what if they were taking the exact same route the kids had?

_Two days is enough to kill someone,_ a tiny voice whispered in his head. _You know that, Allen. A few minutes is all it takes._ _They've had over 30 hours._

The pit grew wider.

"Oh?" Hal said, the only one brave enough to ask. "How'd ya know?"

Robin squinted his eyes at the holographic display, "She left a signal."

"A signal?" Diana asked, all innocent curiosity. "Of what sort?"

"One to alert me to her previous presence should I ever enter a database. They've been here, all of them." Bruce growled.

"Really?" Oliver perked up at that. Barry almost felt sad for him, his son of a few months was missing and possibly- possibly... _oh god._

"Indeed," Bruce interrupted his spiralling thoughts. "She left a map," he paused and squinted. "They're being held in a laboratory of some sort."

"How can you be sure?" Orion asked.

Bruce stood up to his full height as if he were being challenged. "Because I trust my daughter's distress signal is accurate."

Barry noted those words carefully despite his current ongoing anxiety powered delirium.

_I trust my daughter's_ distress signal _._ Bruce had said, not: _'I trust my daughter'._

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Bruce had always been secretive and Hal had always understood that. Borne from losing his parents too young and taking on a nametag too soon. He'd never had a good childhood - in fact, most of the Core hadn't. Barry, Kal and Diana were probably the only ones to know what that meant (even if Diana's was slightly skewered).

But to bring a child into this, as soon as he had lost Rachel so quickly, was disgusting. They were here because -gods forbid anyone know he thought this- _Bruce_ had ordered the mission, he'd let them go without so much as a 'be careful' and here they all were.

Trying to save a bunch of kids that were probably dead.

Dead because of Bruce.

J'onn gave him a knowing look and he shifted his gaze to the ground in shame.

Or was it his fault? Bruce had asked him if he was available for backup at the meeting - to at least show more of the League supported this _team._ Hal had been attempting to sleep off a hangover though (a bad one too, after a hard drinking night with Carol) and he'd rejected the offer with a snort. He loved Rachel -who couldn't? The gleam she held in her eyes was adorable in the way he supposed only a Space Cop could find cute and she smirked with a fatal essence of fearlessness- but even love has a limit.

He was really kicking himself right now. Seriously, he imagined the bruises he would've had were he not wearing the suit. (The bruises he  _deserved.)_

The hallway they were lurking in wasn't any better. Bruce had looked at his gauntlet 'graph with a critical eye and had proclaimed they were stopping at floor 111. The kids had stopped at floor 112.

111 was concrete walls, labs and offices galore. Keypads guarded all doors and as they ducked under the bulletproof glass window panels in the metal doors, Hal used the ring to scan for life signals.

The feedback was worrying, if anything: 16 unarmed human life sigs, aka scientists; 18 unidentified, ambiguous life forms, which was _bad news_ and the rest of the Leaguers that crouched behind him.

"Recon," Bruce growled, voice like gravel. Barry straightened his back as they got to a clear stretch of a hallway and with a nod disappeared.

He reappeared not five seconds later, eyes wide. "You won't believe this, but..."

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

"CADMUS are making clones," Oliver gasped.

"Holy shit," Hal breathed.

"By Athena's fury," said Diana, tone some mix of outrage and worry. "We should proceed with caution."

Bruce seemed to disagree. J'onn spoke up, over the scowl of disapproval.

"We should search for the children while it is still possible," the Martain hummed, speaking for the first time in a while. Those words pulled the mood back down to earth and grounded them all severely. "Before we are found."

"Of course," Orion nodded. "J'onn holds a valid point. Let us move with the swiftness of the currents."

Hal vividly imagined the smooth, curling current of the lake back home. He remembered how its cool waters had lapped at his feet when he was younger and how he'd went there with his brother to swim during the warm summer months. The Green Lantern decided to not pipe up that not all currents were so swift as the Atlantean King seemed to think they were.

"Directions, Batman?" J'onn asked as they started along the hallway.

He was ignored as Bruce paused at a door guarded by two keypads. "Cover me," the man grunted, pushing in his USB cable before he began to hack the thing.

The moment he hit his screen the third time alarms rang off, Bruce's screen flushed red and he growled lowly before yanking the cable out.

Hal didn't need him to speak to know what had happened as a crowd of blue-tinted people appeared at the turn of the hallway and locked eyes with them. They charged with screams of thunderous volume.

Hal reacted first, slamming up his shield as J'onn nodded to Bruce and floated through the floor. The blue people had yellow eyes like Avatars and purple (and some green) markings that swirled in various patterns and shapes. There were twelve of them, only twelve of the eighteen unknown life sigs.

Diana placed her small but sure hand on his shoulder and he dropped the shield. He slammed two of the probable clones into the wall with a giant light hand as the Amazonian rushed six of them with an adrenalized, blood curdling roar.

Barry whipped right up the wall, running up halfway to elbow slam a group of three that went down with low screetches.

Hal took out the last one with a smooth trail of hard light as three hulking beasts roared to rival Diana's. One charged, large mammoth-like horns mowing straight through a section of the wall it slammed into thanks to Orion's spear knocking it off course. The two others stomped forward, arms as long as their legs and even going so far as to touch the ground like limp appendages of hell.

Their blue skin shined in the now red and flashing lockdown lights. Bruce threw a blinking batarang and one vanished from sight, becoming a hardened puff of yellow solidifying solution.

"Hurry!" J'onn called as he passed his hand through the two keypads, completely disregarding the laws he consciously abided by. He seemed spooked if the wildness in his eyes meant anything.

"Go!" Bruce shouted in sync, shooting Barry a glare to get moving as the male sped over to the cheeto puff of a monster. "That won't hold it for much longer!"

Sure enough, it cracked as a roar rumbled within the compounds confinement. The one behind it spared a second to stare dumbly before it roared, rearing up on its hind legs and slapping its chest like a gorilla before charging forward and making the ball slide forward slightly. It edged closer to them like a fast travelling glacier.

"C'mon, Flash!" Hal pulled him along and they all made it into the metal stairwell just as the orange cheeto puff collided with the wall at the far end of the hallway. The last blue creature bellowed, anger clear as it stomped by, completely oblivious to the cowering humans in the stairwell. It's steps echoed in the distance.

"That was close," Diana said, brushing off her skirt as she began following Bruce and J'onn who were already scaling down the stairs. Barry blinked and offered a weak smile at Hal before nodding and zipping forward to join the rest of them.

Hal frowned but followed. He had a bad feeling about this. Orion clapped him on the back in reconcilation.

"Let us find the team and leave, Jordan."

The Atlantean King was grinning from ear to ear and not for the first time, Hal wondered how he did it. How he stayed so _happy._


	15. Health And Blight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They came. Finally.

 

The needle neared. Looming with a threat unheard of. Grey liquid, like the devil himself had given blood, swirled within it's transparent confines. Conners' smile was loopy, as if he was high on drugs no one had seen him take.

"Now," he said, voice hitching as he rubbed down the crease of her elbow with alcohol wipes. "This will hurt a bit, maybe sting, or burn. I'm not too sure, the big guy didn't really give much detail."

Rachel's heart was in her throat. Her pulse was too fast, too arythmic. Conners patted her wrist lovingly, cooing something nonsensical that she tried to ignore, tried to drown out as background interference.

The thin slip of metal pushed into the vein and released its contents. It burned like _hell;_ burned as if fire had dropped down on her chest, swallowing and constricting her lungs and ergo, her breathing. Her eyes dried before watering, her fingers twitched frantically of their own accord and before she knew it her eyes were rolling back, her vision fading to the point of nothingness. Conners said something indecipherable.

The world returned to normal and shakes Rachel hadn't known were there ceased, leaving her body weak and shivering from an imaginary cold draft. Her stomach twisted with despise (or was it fear?).

"That was good," Conners said, face floating in the edge of her eyeline. The leather straps around her wrists were tightened by a lurking K and Rachel felt as if those veins were about to pop from the pressure.

"Short reaction time," K grunted and spoke on but Rachel was hiccuping now, lungs expanding with each other breath that made it hard to find air. Her diaphragm ached, shivering unceasingly as she mentally begged for oxygen.

"Indeed." Conners said and his approving, slightly curious tone spelled disaster for her. Rachel almost wished she'd heard what K had said but Red's calming rumble pulled her into her head again, setting her thoughts on triumph once more.

The second needle pierced the other arm and Rachel found she had no air in her lungs to let her scream as freezing, violet fluid flushed into her bloodstream like a glacier flushing into a valley dam. Her entire left arm felt stiff, cold as ice and her legs went numb first. Then her torso before it crept up into her arm and head, making her everything pound furiously.

A hand gripped onto the Nightwing insignia. Sharp, daunting scissors grazed the fabric.

Her heart felt numb. Conners grinned down at her as the suit ripped by the scissors easier than kevlar ever should've.

"I'll leave this on," he hummed, scalpel that was suddenly in his hands flitting over her sports bra. "Out of professional courtesy, of course."

Relief flooded what bits she could still feel, making her world fuzzy. Still, that didn't stop the alcohol wipes, nor the scalpel.

It sliced down, black blood that rushed forth not even spooking Conners. If anything, it seemed to fascinate him.

"Interesting indeed, seems he was right." The scientist muttered. "Even when your blood hits air and gravity - _everything_ \- it remains black."

"Due to an oversaturation of electrum?" K asked, the head tilt the only show of personality.

"Yes," Conners said, picking up the needle and drawing more blood despite what was pooling on her chest, seeping into her suit, into her bra. She held back the wince as it flushed over her neck, cruelly recreating the feeling of a warm, safe blanket. "Those foolish Owls obviously know nothing of the effects of such toxic chemicals."

His scalpel was pushed in again, thin blade slicing through skin and muscle that seeped black poison readily. The cut was long, deep and thin, straight down the middle like a symmetrical line splitting a portrait in half. He poked around in Rachel's chest for a bit before sighing and pulling back.

"I was going to see if I could get any bone samples but your chest has been a bit reformatted by Chemical E," He picked at the edge of her bra and ripped it a bit. "So I'll just have to cut some from your ribs."

He readied the point and dived down, slicing thickly through the skin just below her breasts by a few inches. Rachel gasped for air, the sickly feeling of metal in her never receding no matter how much she tried to ignore it. The blood on her chest was merely running through her bra now, having completely entrenched it, almost corrosive-like as it ran down the hem and skunked into the edges of her suit, gathering down her sides. Her side fizzled where the doctor poked as the blood from her chest slithered over the fresh incision.

Conners scowled as he grabbed a wad of wipes and pushed them across the blood, drawing the black mess away from the slit where he was scratching at her bone painfully.

"Come here," he muttered to K, arrogantly flicking him over. He pushed the wipes over to the clone. "Apply pressure to that with something, I thought she would've healed by now."

_Yes,_ she thought, panic lacing everything as pain mingled with her nerves like an old friend. _Why haven't I healed?_

_The injections,_ Red purred, tone soft in a futile attempt to calm her. Clawed hands ghosted over her legs. _The hot one dulled my influence and the cold one has almost halted The Talon's powers completely. If left long enough you could begin to age like a normal human._

_But it won't come to that,_ she thought, worry climbing along her spine. _Right?_

Red didn't answer.

"Day dreaming on us, little Talon?" Conners smirked as the pain of pressure on her chest pulled her back with a yowl. "Can't have that, now can we, K?"

The doctor looked over to the clone who shook his head obediently.

"Of course not," K said, voice a cold humoured thing. _"Doraleous_ forbid."

_Doraleous?_ She questioned, vision blurry as the pressure increased.

Conners seemed as equally confused but shrugged it off, "Right then, why don't we--"

The door slammed open with a green train leading the way.

Rachel's heart thumped in her chest, writhing pace renewed as Hal shot through the opening, ring glowing with his power.

"Stand down!" The Green Lantern shouted, showing his ring as K readied his fists and Conners jerked away from her.

"Surrender, criminals!" Orion howled and the guilt settled in like a wave.

Wally jerked awake in his pod as Roy blinked and came to. Rachel curled her fingers into a fist despite the shooting pains and hoped no one actively held how _weak_ she was against her.

Conners began laughing as Diana strode into the room, and it turned hysterical as B and Allen followed her in, the latter zipping about and freeing the other two boys instantly. Rachel's chest exploded with shame.

"Stand down, Conners." Bats growled, voice rough, and getting even rougher as a child, wearing that cape of hers which had been ripped in half thanks to Two-Face and an expandable domino, followed him in. His black hair shined in the murky lights of the lab and Rachel's stomach was in her throat as she realised who he was.

Her _replacement._

_Bats had replaced her._

Red screamed from within.

It couldn't have been a week yet Bats had already went fishing for another scoundrel. Was that how much he cared for her?

Her headache got worse, so much so, that when Conners moved to hoist the scalpel above her chest she didn't even notice.

If anyone asked, she was heavily drugged. _Definitely._

The League stiffened funnily as the scalpel hovered peacefully a few inches from the skin above her heart.

"Anyone moves and she's dead," Conners hissed, voice as steady as his hands.

Her replacement frowned as everyone else did, he looked around discreetly and Rachel found herself watching as he murmured something low to B. It was a credit to her lowly state that she couldn't hear him speaking.

Batman put one foot in front of the other and took a step forward. Rachel felt like crying as betrayal welled up inside of her. Why would he move? Why would Bats move when Conners had _explicitly_ made it clear she would be killed should he make a move?

Was she really that _unimportant?_

So _expandable_ that she could be _sacrificed without a second thought?_

"What are you waiting for then?" Bats sneered as Conners' hand wavered. "She knew what she was getting into when she started."

Batman's honest cruelty seemed to shock the heroes around him and Conners. Rachel swore even K blinked. She didn't care though, the weight on her chest felt like it had doubled even without the wipes or K's hands there. The angry sorrowful pain encrowded her, making it hard to see as tears lined her vision.

Her chest heaved as she fought for breath.

No one spared her a second glance, though the tension in the room rose significantly.

"Are you sure you're so ready for her to die?" Conners called, a last ditch attempt before he did the deed.

_Please, Bruce._ She begged silently.

_Never beg, child._ Red emitted strength from within. It warmed her heart but not her soul.

"When did I say that?" A batarang flew out from nowhere - the kid's pulled on utility belt, Rachel would find out later - and knocked the scalpel out of Conners' hand.

Conners shouted in surprise and reeled back. K lunged forward for Bats, Aquaman intercepting him halfway, initiating a full out brawl between them.

Bats let Wonder Woman off at Conners to tie him up with her lasso, before approaching her with the calm stride of a man familiar and unafraid of death.

"You were captured," Batman said lowly into her ears as he pulled out a lazer to cut at the straps practically melded to her wrists from blood.

_Yes,_ she wanted to say but her throat hurt and the betrayal still stung deep down. _Everything hurts._

_Please, dad,_ she wanted to call but the way he'd let the scalpel hover over her heart without so much as a twitch of pain (or any other emotion) crossing his face deterred her. The scene haunted her.

"Can you stand?" He asked, voice suddenly a bit softer as he checked over her chest and other still bleeding wounds briefly. He applied a scrunched up bandage to her chest and pulled her arm up to hold it there despite how it bled.

Rachel wanted to nod so terribly bad.

"Don' think she can, Batman." The kid said, hair glistening in the now red flashing lockdown lights. Rachel wondered when they'd turned on and realised it had probably happened when the door had flew off its hinges thanks to Hal. But that— she coughed harshly and its wet sound had her shivering.

Bats didn't respond to her replacement, instead pulling off the straps and everything tying her down and pulling her into a bridal carry that had her clutched close to his chest. The only up side to that was that he radiated body heat like a mammoth.

"Grab the swords, belt and claws." He said a few seconds later to her replacement. The boy lingered nervously, "Now, _Robin."_

Something sharp, simultaneously too hot and too cold made a spearhead to her heart as Rachel heard the name.

"R- Robin?" She coughed out, throat screaming with the bloodied burns on her chest shifting with each laboured breath.

God she hoped she'd heard it wrong.

_Her mami's nickname for her..._

The boy turned around mid-step, face alight with purpose, hope and recognition. "Yeah?"

_....ruined._

If Bruce felt the tension as she sunk low into his traitorus chest, he didn't remark upon it. Instead, "Let's leave."

And god damn, Rachel should've been happy at that - especially as the two others were coming too - but she felt so numb it was like she'd lost the ability to feel.

~~Robin~~ — _no._ The boy grabbed her gear and they fled. Orion's enraged shouts followed them out.


	16. Peace Is Not Given Freely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Set March-time 1996.)

 

 

Rachel stares at the tender cuts carved into her body in the full-body mirror.

_"They'll scar, sweetie."_ The private hospital's doctor had said - the one payed enough to simply dismiss any and all questions from everyone with a simple 'just a sprained wrist'.

Even then, that was partially true because she had bandages on her wrist. Because it was sprained.

Oh, the irony.

Rachel found it depressingly funny that still two weeks later her injuries plagued her like a broken record player. Running hand in hand with her problems.

Not only would the electric burns and cuts on her chest scar, her wrists were perpetually going to be ruddy, lumpy tissue from the too tight, skin splitting straps that had been wrapped around them. Her ankle felt weird and her ribs ached at night when no one spoke enough to keep away the sharp cold metal against her skin. She also had a phobia of needles if the horrible panic attack she'd had upon seeing one meant anything.

And somehow, the heartache didn't end there. B had taken in the kid - her _replacement_ , **_Robin_** \- and now he lurked about too, sometimes checking in on her, all arrogant naïevty and forlorn innocence. His Dead End accent drove her up the wall of hate and into eternal loathsome despisement.

The brat had stolen _her_ place.

Apparently, she was too ill to go out. (And since when had a couple scars and cuts ever stopped a _Talon_?) So Bruce had organised for the boy to be Robin and take her place, having training on the go.

( _"A broken arm won't kill you,"_ Cobb's slimey voice hissed in her ear.)

If that all wasn't enough, Alf seemed to like the boy more too. So did B.

God B _loved_ him.

A knock on her door pulled her out of her thoughts and she pulled down the loose shirt (loose because everything hurt when pressure was applied, loose because her heart was wound too tightly and she couldn't handle anything else, because she was still reeling from the betrayal, and the heartache of traitors walking among and beside and around her) just as the heavy wooden door swung open.

"'Sup," The kid himself called. He hung in the doorway like a broken wire, looking just a tad lost.

"What do you want?" She snipped, deciding to just pull on a pair of those loose fluffy socks because she couldn't really bend and breathe at the same time.

"Alf sent me to get ya," he said. "Said it's lunch time."

She turned around to grab a belt to keep up her sweats and when she turned back around he was gone.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

"Rachel," B smiled, all worry and charming gentleness now that he was out of the cowl. Honestly, Rachel had been beginning to lose sight of the man, she'd been beginning to forget how _kind_ the man behind those pinched eyes was. The wonder of reality clashed with her head though and she found herself wondering far too often if Bruce Wayne really was _real_ because recently he was looking an awful lot like a human cover for the Bat.

"How are you, sweetie?" He asked, standing and easing her down into the couch corner before returning to his individual couch. There was a board game splayed out on the table, pawns splattered everywhere, faux game money standing in piles around the coffee tables' edges.

Jason was at the end opposite to B. He smiled at her awkwardly - the way only a teenager could pull off - before focusing back on the game. It was Monopoly.

"I'm okay," she hummed, a softer side coming out that she hadn't felt in far too long. Clawed hands ghosted along her shoulders, dipping in at the stress points and shuddering down to give the impression of a massage. Red growled in her ear.

"Very good," Alfred said, appearing in the doorway, a tray held in his hands. "Okay enough to stomach some of my soup, I hope?"

Rachel pulled up the smile easily enough but it felt stiff; forced. "Yeah, should be."

Alfred smiled back, his eyes twinkling as he crossed the room and pulled up a pillow to rest on her lap before placing down the tray. He pulled off the lid and nodded down at it, "Sweet potato and leek soup, my mother's esteemed recipe."

Apparently these people couldn't tell a forced smile from a real one; how _disappointing._

The soup was lovely, though. Probably the best food she'd had in a while, even if one took into account how _all_ food had tasted better since CADMUS. Even if it was harder to swallow.

Rachel appreciated the sentiment as B and Jason stayed in the room with her, munching on sandwiches as they worked their way around the board, Alfred occasionally popping in for odd bits and bobs.

She finished the soup and as Alfred appeared and took it from her, smiling all the while, Bruce looked over to her.

"Would you like to join, Rachel?" He smiled sheepishly. "Possibly to help me?"

Rachel looked at the board, at the kid's pile of money that was growing by the second. She noticed how Jason's grin had turned cocky and god _she needs to win. She needs to best her replacement._

_Needs to prove her worth._

"Sure," she says and Bruce pushes the table closer to her. He pulls his couch along a bit and Jason shuffles along the floor.

They win the game and for a moment, Rachel is happy enough to believe everything will be alright. That everything's going to be fine.


	17. Owls On The Prowl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted to add a bit of Romanian (because idk Romani) into this. Sorta failed, sorta didn't.
> 
> I blame google translate.

 

Then the side effects kick in a week later.

Thanks to the serums Conners injected her with, no doubt, Rachel assumes. And although she hasn't yet told anyone, she suspects Alfred already knows.

Because the glint in his eyes is too sad to mean anything else.

It begins with shivers. Shivers so shallow and meaningless that Rachel dismisses them as the beginnings of a cold simply because it wouldn't be surprising to find her immune system has failed with all the unwanted chemicals inside her blood.

Over the period of two days the shivers, small and nothing, become something. They shake her so bad, Bruce worries and even Jason knows there's something wrong at this point. She bursts into sporadic shivers at dinner one night and she ends up dropping the spoon (because Alfred is still keeping her on soup) and storming out as well as her stiff limbs can allow.

Bruce visits her that night before his patrol and finds her curled up in bed.

"If you ever want anything," he'd said. "Please don't hesitate to ask, kiddo."

She did ask. But she hesitated, instead of saying she wanted help, she froze up inside just like that second injection ( _"kid."_ ) and merely asked for a hug. At least it had been warm.

The shivers go on to become headaches, and the headaches turn to migraines that keep her in bed, curtains drawn until the light of day recedes. She starts seeing golden eyes lurking in the corners of her room and moves all the furniture one day - when she has the energy - to the middle parts of the walls. Decor be damned.

Bruce checks up on her more, despite how Wayne Enterprises is booming and how he's well on his way to becoming a billionaire for sure. Alfred worries and shows it in the form of hot food and constantly plump pillows and luxuries she could never have asked for.

Jason stops visiting, instead choosing to spend his time more wisely. He trains. He trains in the Cave, according to Alf, whenever he can, no matter the day.

The migraines stop and in return she's hit with blood stopping hallucinations that she doesn't speak of. She sees Cobb some days, his curling brown auburn hair and his vicious grin, other days, its Conners with his shining glasses, or K with his blank face. Or Kaldur'ahm and his lifeless body and glassy eyes.

Rachel dreams too, she dreams when she sleeps and she sees things no other should. Sees things others haven't. A sane man would call these things nightmares, for with them she wakes up panting, sweating so bad she has to change the damned bandages that have lurked too long. But nightmares these are not. They follow her into the day's light, into dawns abode and slink around in dusk's territory.

She's heard of this before, what it is when you see things of the past and feel things that's happened too long ago. A few in the Court had been discharged -  _killed by the_ _Grandmaster's wish -_ for it.

It's Post Traumatic Stress.

Rachel has PTSD and it doesn't stop there.

Her ribs ache even though they've long healed, and though they took their time in doing so, Rachel has seen recently that her Talon's powers have been dulling. Her healing takes longer to kick in - shown by the papercut she got the other day that stuck around for a full five hours instead of the usual five minutes. Her eyesight is degrading despite her tendency to sleep more and more and her hearing is dulling, becoming clogged almost as she listens to nothing but silence and creaking floorboards as Alf walks for hours. Her arms ache with the hot firey pain and the cold frozen one sometimes too often.

In short, Rachel's loosing it.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The first time the owl passes by her window she thinks she's actually dreaming for once, asleep as she relives her worst nights. It's day though and B is busy at WE and Jason is at school. Alf is downstairs likely, doing whatever he does and the small rays of sunlight reflecting within her room are too real - too warm - to be fake.

The white barn owl perches upon the windowsill and hoots curiously, pecking at her window and spooking itself. It flies away in a cluster of feathers and a white gleam.

Rachel dismisses it and rolls over in bed, away from the window as her eyes buzz.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The next time the owl is human.

Rachel wakes up to a long figure draped over her bed as a shadow. She shifts, as if in her sleep, and rolls over enough to catch sight of the all too familiar helper.

"Monook," she coughs, voice rough as her throat is dry. Horace pulls his gaze up from where he stands gazing out her window, over the grounds, turning a glimmering smile on her.

"Red," he says and pauses just enough for her to frown. "Oh? No? Anca again?"

"Rachel," she grinds out and Horace looks oddly surprised as he crosses the room and hands her the glass of water on her bedside table as she pulls herself up to sit, leaning heavily against the headboard.

"Very well," Horace says. "Rachel."

He nods, then, "I heard you were Nightwing."

"Oh?" She says and her throat is better, her voice not as scratchy. "From whom?"

"A little birdie." Horace smiles and sits on her bed with a grunt, putting the glass that is handed to him back on its coaster.

Something about her gives away her annoyance. Horace shakes it off with a laugh, "No one, little _fată_. I figured it out myself. But she has went missing, has she not?"

Rachel swallowed.

"What happened?" Horace asks, voice soft like he's reassuring a cornered animal.

"CADMUS," she says and Horace seems to understand now but she fires on because she needs to get this off her chest. "There was a little team of sidekicks - _copii_ , really- I was assigned to lead them. We went down to the lowest floor and we..."

Horace placed his hand on her shaking one and his eyes said it all, _it's okay. You don't need to go on._

_I do,_ she responded in her own.

"We were captured. One of the _copii_ was killed, his father..." Orion had been engulfed in a rage so deep he'd nearly beaten Conners to death. He probably would've had it not been for Superman and J'onn's combined efforts of intervention. "His father was not happy. I was..."

_"Torturat."_ Horace murmured, whisper-like.  _Tortured._

_"Da, am fost." Yes, I was._

Horace sighed and bent forward, elbows on his knees as he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "I apologise."

_"De ce?"_ She laughed,  _why?_ "You did nothing wrong." 

"I just... I feel like I should've known."

Rachel pulled up a quaking arm and patted the older man's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, what else brings you here?"

"My owl said you were ill," he admitted. "I was worried."

At that, the eyes in the corner reappeared and Rachel's breathing hitched. Her vision blurred and suddenly she was blinking herself back, Horace's calloused palm holding her head up.

_"Femeie?"_ He grunted, worry lacing his words.  _Woman?_ "You are burning up, _copil._ Are you alright?"  _Child._

Rachel blinked, finding she didn't have the strength to sit up by herself anymore. Horace seemed to realise this too, and pulled her blankets back to settle her down again before pulling them up over her shivering form. He grabbed onto her hand and muttered a lullaby in _Română._

A needle pricked her skin and warm fluid washed into her blood. Rachel didn't have time to ask about it as her eyes slipped shut.


	18. The Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((September 1996.))

 

Jason would never have realised it were it not for Bruce. Honestly, the boy barely seen Rachel (barely knew her aside from long glares across the hallway, aside from the awkward hello or goodnight and then she'd gotten sick and all that had stopped so he barely knew her) so if he was alone, it's safe to assume he wouldn't have realised she was gone at all.

Of course though, Bruce did.

"Rachel!" Bruce had shouted, wheeling out of her room like a puppet possessed. "Rachel, sweetie? Where are you?"

Jason had raised an eyebrow at the man, standing awkwardly where he was in the foyer after returning from another day at that hellish school, not seeing his problem. So what if the girl had decided to go for a walk? ( _S_ _he can barely stand, you idiot,_ a voice sounding suspiciously like Catherine nagged with all her common sense.) It wasn't their problem.

"What's the matter, Master Bruce?" Alf asked, peeking his head through the living room door off to Jason's left. "Mistress Rachel is in her room."

The crazed gleam in Bruce's eyes said otherwise.

"Oh, dear. Where else could she be?" Alf asked, stepping out into the foyer as Bruce rushed through the rest of the doors by the inside landing-balcony, double checking the bathroom thrice.

"Has there been any disturbances? Anything on the cameras, or the sensors?" Bruce asked even though the system would've alerted him instantly, voice rushed and hands shaking as he jumped the last of the stairs. His gaze spun around the first floor so quickly Jason would've reckoned he was searching for a hiding place from the devil himself. The man rushed off down the hallway lined with portraits and Jason found himself standing there dumbly.

"She's missin'?" Jason asked incredulously. "Are ya sure? I mean, she could _barely_ get out'a bed. Y'know?"

Alf gave him a pointed look before brushing off his statement. "I'm sure she'll pop up soon... Come and help me bake some cookies, young Master."

With a grunt, Jason toed off his shoes and followed, pretending the worry churning inside of him was just excitement at the prospect of making more cookies with Alfred.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

"She still hasn't shown up, Hal," Bruce growled into the receiver, gripping the phone ever tighter. "It's been two weeks, she could be fucking dead!"

 _"Listen, B."_ Hal interrupted, _"I love her almost as much as you do, big man, but I'm not much help. I've got a few more hours here before heading on out to Sector 99257 to do some recon shit."_

Not for the first time, Bruce wondered how Hal remembered such long names so perfectly. He brushed it off in favour of annoyance.

"Can't you do something? You're the head of a whole god damn Corps, Jordan."

Hal sighed, _"I'm sorry, Bruce. We're underhanded out there too much as it already is, if I were to station a few more guys we'd run the risk of leaving somewhere else unprotected."_

"Earth has the Justice League, it has those two other Lanterns you're so fond of - I'm not asking any of your men to come here, I'm only asking that you _help._ "

Voices rumbled in the background of Hal's call and he fell out of the mic's immediate range enough to murmur something suspiciously like, 'No! He didn't call you an idiot, Guy. Shut up.'

_"I'm sorry, Guy and-"_

"I don't need those idiots," Bruce growled.

Shouting burst out on Hal's end and Guy's irish accent could clearly be heard saying, 'God damn, I'm'a rip 'im a knew one if he fuckin' calls-'

 _"Shut the fuck up, Guy! John, do something before he breaks that vase!"_ Hal growled then breathed another sigh. _"I'm sorry, Bruce. I just- I can't."_

The dial tone met him.

"He hung up," Bruce seethed. "That- That asshole _hung_ up!"

"Surely that's not that big of a surprise, Master Bruce." Alfred snipped, polishing the glass display cabinet in the corner. "Considering who he was talking to."

Bruce glared at his life-long butler and father-figure. His paternal instincts were roaring within, his chest burning constantly at how bad he missed Rachel. What if his little girl was out there, dying or worse? He'd never forgive himself if something bad happened to her.

Alfred snorted, " _'Dying or worse,'_ you say, Master Bruce? The girl is smart, she would never die whilst in her element."

"How do you know she's in her element?" Bruce asked, voice more a grumble than even Batman's. Uncertainty crossed Alfred's face at the notion too, just like it swam in Bruce's gut, making his fingers twitch. "There's more than one out there."

Alfred's ageing hand came to a stuttering stop on Bruce's shoulder. "I've found it's best to merely wish a safe return and not dwell on the details."

Guilt flooded Bruce like a tsunami, drowning his voice before it even reached his throat.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Rachel woke up to the silence of death.

Breathing deeply, half hoping this was a dream, she pulled herself weakly from the coffin's confines and jolted at the lush golden eyes that met her sight.

It was a boy, far older than Jason in looks, with shaggy brown hair and sharp, daunting eyes that glowed a colour that disconcerted Red.

But Rachel was not Red.

"And you'd be?" She asked and frowned when no answer came.

Rachel made to stand, awkwardly slipping her legs off the side of the coffin that folded down, never sparing the boy's piercing gaze or the too monotone tiles on the blood soaked floor a second glance.

"You need help?" The boy asked, voice shockingly soft as he stood from his perch on the coffin opposite and eased her down anyway onto the cool ground, able to lift her easily despite his distinct lack of muscles. Rachel shook off the queasy feeling that bubbled in her stomach when she stood, muscles weak from prolonged sickness.

"Who are you?" She asked again. The boy seemed to hear her this time, his hands going up to pull at the hem of his distinctly 1920's worn-out button up. In fact, now that she looked at him more clearly, the boy appeared to hold a certain air of the 20's around him like most did around that time.

"My apologies, I go by Nikkola," he said, head ducking as red hot embarrassment made itself clear upon his ashen cheeks. "People tend to call me Nikko more."

"English isn't your mother tongue, is it?" She asked, hearing the definite accent smothered by years of pretending.

Nikkola looked up, eyes glittering a hesitant joy the way a true Talon could only do in their forbidden language. "No."

"Hmm," she said, taking his hand to feel his swarthy skin. "You Nordic?"

He heaved a whistle that might've been a chuckle. "Dear no."

"Polish?" She asked, for he wasn't Romanian. Rachel would've known.

He shook his head.

"Estonian?"

He smirked.

"Speak again," she ordered.

"We don't have time for this, ma'am, Horvace is waiting."

"Ukrainian?" She asked then clicked her tongue. "No, Russian?"

He grinned.

"You are!" She smirked. "Russian? Sweet."

" _Da,"_ he nodded. " _Spasibo._ Let us go now, before Horvace becomes impatient."

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The halls of the Maze were as desolate as ever. Cold and unwelcoming, just like her dreams of the place.

And it was still big enough to fill a plaza and more.

Just like her damn memories.

"So how come you're still around?" She asked Nikkola as he lead them deftly amongst the statues and through all the hidden cracks as if Rachel didn't know the place well enough to navigate for herself. "Thought Bats burnt the Court."

It wasn't a question but Nikkola reacted as if it was one. " _Da,_ he did. Since then Horvace started up his little hobby - _this."_

"Which is, exactly?"

"The Remnants." Nikkola said importantly, as if she was meant to know what he meant by two measly words. The boy, who had to be at least twenty years younger than her from mentality alone, sighed. "The Court left many Talons behind when it burned. Horvace came back one day and decided to start a rehabilitation programme for those left in their coffins. Surprisingly the Court didn't deploy all the Talons."

"Then why would Horace kidnap me?"

Nikkola turned on her with wide eyes. "He what?"

Rachel blinked at the slightly taller boy's outburst. "What did I say?"

"You- You said he _kidnapped_ you." Nikkola seemed horrified. Maybe the - what had he said, the Remnants? - yeah, maybe the Remnants had a chance, if one of it's subjects responded so to seemingly normal evil.

Rachel raised her hands placatingly. "Hey, I was being sarcastic, kid. Calm down. How did a Russian boy like you end up as a Talon, anyhow?"

(It felt better calling someone else kid for a change.)

Nikkola spared her one last uneasy look before continuing to lead them to what seemed to be the direction of the Arena, the Owl's end, if the lavish furniture and beautiful carpets around them was telling.

"Immigrants," the _băiat_ said. "My parents died after the journey over, one of the men found me and must've saw potential in me because he brought me here."

A bittersweet story for a bitter but sweet boy. Rachel found it fitting.

"Nice," she nodded. "My parents died on the trapeze set. Cobb's my something-something great-great-grandfather give or take a few 'greats'. He was there and _boom._ Here I am."

"You're related to... to Cobb?" Nikkola was horrified, like most when they found out about their relation.

"Yep." She hummed. "Damn sad too. He was still an asshole."

Nikkola laughed but it was cut short as they approached a door carved from - by the looks of it - gold. (It probably was too, those damn Owls didn't know what to spend their fucking blood money on from the very start.)

"Horvace is in there." Nikkola nodded, he turned to leave.

"See ya around, kid?" She asked.

The soft whistle of his chuckle sounded again, "Sure."

Rachel smirked as she opened the door and came face to face with god damn none other than _**William fucking Cobb.**_


	19. Demons Aren't Only In The Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, I went and edited The Dark Where No Man Lives there. Heavily. Everything's up to date and spellings and plot's been improved aside from the last chapter (The Epilogue: Rapture Rises ((yes, that's a reference to JT Music's BioShock rap name))). That one's a bit shoddy as I ended up writing a bit of Jay's history that I haven't fully decided on yet but felt was needed for (cough cough, I won't spoil it). 
> 
> It'll get updated later on as that is confirmed in this book. Meanwhile, enjoy the roller coaster of shit that's happening here.

 

 

Rachel started, reeling back before she was even in the room. Cobb grinned at her, his eyes unblinking. Affrightened panic clawed at Rachel's insides and suddenly Horace was speaking.

"Don't worry, _fată,"_ the man soothed, pulling her into the room so the door could close. He knocked on the ice that covered Cobb's entire being that Rachel hadn't seen before in her fear. "See? Rock solid. He's not getting out any time soon, yes?"

She was frozen, heart pumping petrified arythmic beats still, even as her common sense and logic waged wars on how Cobb _could_ get out of that mere block of ice. It wasn't like Rachel _hadn't_ seen him get out of things _worse_.

_"Da?"_ Horace pressed when no response came.

" _D- Da."_ She ground out, fingers already twitching for a blade on instinct.

"Good, good." Horace dragged her over to the Owls seats and pushed her into one, him taking the one opposite. "I see you have been very sick lately, _da?"_

_Odd._ Rachel thought. The man knew she was sick yet still kidnapped her and brought her to the fucking place that had ruined her life.

The man was weird to say the least. Even on his... _good_ days.

"Yes," she said, feeling bored now because what else was she to feel? That scare not five minutes ago had drained her and she particularly wanted to just go--

But did she really have a home?

_We haven't had a home since 1940._ Red snarled, tone like steel. _Don't fool yourself otherwise._

Rachel didn't.

"What do you want, Horace?"

"I assume little Nikko told you of the Remnants?"

"He did," Rachel said, not quite liking the smile that had grown like weeds over Horace's face. "And?"

"Well, I have a proposition."

"You might want to tell me of it before I get bored." She snarked, leaning back in the chair like she had the energy to kill him on the spot just like before. Pretending like she wasn't dying because she _knew_ she was.

Horace smiled like the entire world knew except for her. "I can cure your sickness, in return you will help lead for five years, _da?"_

"Three," she said, then reconsidered mentally.

Horace's smile slipped a tad, "Four."

Rachel tilted her head like she was even considering that fucking ridiculous offer. "Two. Or I'm gone."

Horace gaped. "Surely you will be wanting to--"

"Two," she said decisively. "No more."

He sighed and stood, hand outstretched to pull her up from the surprisingly plush seat. "Very well, come now. Let me show you the cure."

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The lab was dank and stunk of chemicals. It put Rachel into an even worse mood as Horace took his sweet time pottering about, 'looking' for the cure.

"Found it!" The larger, older man called, an odd lilt to his tone that had Rachel reconsidering his sanity. "Here, here!"

A needle - _oh god a needle -_ was thrust into her hands and Rachel had to fight the urge to drop it instantly.

"What's in it?" She hissed, squinting at the ominous glowing blue liquid. It looked suspiciously like--

"Electrum!" Horace cawed, grinning. "It can help."

"Really?" She said, because when did Electrum _ever_ help? It had turned her and many others into Talons with iffy side effects and was known for how it could burn your skin should it come in contact with it.

By all the laws, _Electrum did not heal._

"How so?" She indulged the man, if only because his grin was growing and growing and _shit_ , _do you feel this, Red?_

_Yes,_ Red slithered the same time as Horace laughed - a deep, cackling thing that sent shivers down even the catcus-in-the-corner's back.

_He's insane._

"Electrum is good, see?" Horace chirped like everything was alright and Rachel's world wasn't falling away from her because damn it, she had just walked right into this, hadn't she?

"It can help."

Then he was lunging for her, grin splitting his face in two as he cackled.

Rachel just about dodged the flying needle headed for her chest.

"Come here and be healthy, _fată!"_ Horace crowed, his simper growing by the second. "Come here!"

She ducked under a bolted down lab table just as Horace charged, slamming right into the wall. To her horror, the man merely shook himself off like a bull and laughed down at her, peeling the needle from the wall it had embedded itself in.

Her wrists had been captured before she knew what the pressure on them meant, the sensitive skin tingling as Horace beamed down at her like an expectant - but insane - five year old.

"Calm down, _copil,"_ Horace whispered, transferring her wrists to one hand as he readied the needle. She struggled like a wild animal, pulling and--

The needle peirced skin, _hot liquid - cold liquid - her arms burned - one for each - help me - one dead already - just waiting for saviour - burning like fire - cold burns too._

Rachel gasped, reeling back even as the electrum filled her veins. It bubbled inside her, like the old serum and suddenly Rachel realised that that was what it was. The Old Serum.

_Hello darling,_ a voice nothing like Red's cooed. The voice of the Serum; of insanity.

Horace had injected her with that fucking taboo Serum despite how the Court had supposedly burned each and every last vile.

Had he recreated it? Or had the Court not been as honest as they'd claimed?

_The Court were never honest._ Red got in and already Rachel could feel the two voices fighting each other for control.

_Point taken._

_You're mine now,_ said the new voice and Rachel drowned with Red.

Her wrists burned and suddenly the needle was gone from her wrists, her hands numb as she held it. Rachel grinned at the contraption and coyly flicked her gaze up to Horace's face.

The man's grin was gone in an instant, long before he realised he was choking on his own blood. She twisted the needle, watched as the blood welled up, his throat ripping to shreds as she pulled and tugged. She watched as it failed to clot and laughed.

Rachel laughed until Horace was long dead. She froze him with his monsters. Left him to rot.

"The Remnants, hmm?" She hummed, tone sickly sweet. "They're mine now."

_Yes._

**_Mine._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da (Romanian) = Yes.


	20. Bow To Your Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel isn't holding back.

 

Rachel stared down the fifty Talons that would always be Talons and toned down her smile just enough to not give away her big finale.

 _Yesss,_ the voice soothed _. Can't give away the game yet. Not yet._

"You summoned us, ma'am?" A man, tall, lanky, earnest, asked, voice the thing of an Angel's choir. Rachel toyed with the thought of keeping him should he stick to her boundaries.

" _Da_ ," she hummed, smiling down at her children from where she sat upon the looming statue of an owl that was hunched above one of the Arena's gates. "I did."

"Where is Monook?" A woman asked, short hair glimmering from the sweat of a recent workout. "Is he not here?"

"He is dead," she said and they all bathed in silence.

"How?" Muttered another man. They were all younger than her here, possibly except for Nikkola. These children would go down easily with the New Serum in their blood.

"Yes," someone else mustered up the courage to speak but it was a free right anyway. "Tell us how he died, stranger."

"I am no stranger," Rachel said. "For I am The Talon, once more back to reign."

A hush befell them.

"The Talon is dead. Batman killed her."

"Did he now?" So that was what they thought? Good, she could play off of this. She could have her fun.

 _We like fun,_ whispered the voice that echoed in her head.

They stirred, restless as she questioned them with her superior red eyes.

"Yes?" The youngest, a mere child dressed up, whispered, words as unsure and shaky as his legs.

"He did not." She laughed, "No, the Bat thought he won but he merely glazed the Court's power-" the Talons murmured in fright of the name "-but we are reborn. The Court is no more but I am bored so alas, play my game, children?"

"And what if we don't want to?" The same woman from before with the glossy hair questioned, hands on her hips defiantly.

Rachel shrugged, offering a slightly less crazed smile. "Then you may leave."

_Yes, yes. Leave this world._

The crowd rustled. Murmurs sprang forth of people reminiscing of the outside world, dreams coming to light once more. Whispers of a new chance.

"Raise your hand if you wish to go," she ordered.

A good thirty hands rose. Who was she to judge anyway? The Court life had been hell for her and she was not alone in that aspect.

Still, she couldn't have possible enemies running aghast out there.

_Yes, show authority. Yes._

Her speed was back in full force and Rachel gleefully tapped into it, pulling out a dagger from one of the men's pockets to cut each and every one of their throats before anyone could even blink.

The voice started laughing.

A mass of bodies fell just as Rachel resettled herself on the owl, letting her leg swing to show it had been her to move and kill them all.

The ones remaining backed up like frightened ducks, gasps of surprise escaping from their lips like wild fire along a forest.

Nikkola was one among those left, the pretty boy from earlier was too. That woman was not.

She grinned at them all, "That is what will happen should you cross me. Dismissed."

Rachel laughed, feeling a lust for power like before (but Red had stolen it all last time, this time it was all hers). She shot Nikkola a meaningful look and pointed at the pretty boy before they left too.

"You two, follow."

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

Rachel had seemed so nice. So unsurprising. So colourless.

Never in a thousand years would Nikkola have expected for her to take over what was left of the Court's Talons, for her to singlehandedly kill over thirty people in the blink of an eye, that woman that had followed him without a word, amused curiosity in her eyes as he'd led them through paths and crevices she likely already knew well. She'd seemed so... so _normal_ compared to them all.

Never would Nikkola have ever thought she'd be the one to kill Horace.

And thank the gods she had.

Horace; a man who fed off of brevity, off pain and punishment. Horace, the man who was always lurking in the shadows, ready to strike you down on a moments notice or less.

Yes, for Nikkola had seen him in the older days, when these youngsters weren't around. He'd seen how Horace had killed, killed with such a fierce passion that it made even the cruel Grandmaster shiver with fright at the mess left behind of the body. If it could even have been called a body in the first place.

So when Rachel had summoned them and said Horace was dead, he'd known it was her that'd killed him. Because no one else had to courage to do so, even if she had avoided answering the question completely. (Or was it the fearlessness? Or the utter void of emotions that allowed her to do it? Perhaps it was the sheer, dumbfounding _insanity_ that coursed through her, thanks to the Older Serum?)

And then, she'd asked them who wanted to leave. Obviously, Nikkola hadn't moved because he adored the Talons, _not the Court_ but the Talons. He had kept his hand down because if those children wanted to leave and become traitors then so be it; Nikkola would stay. He would protect what was left with his life should need be.

But then the ones with their hands up had fallen, bodies dropping like flies in a heatwave. It had been beautiful and shocking all at once and Nikkola may not have flinched or stepped back, but he did gasp in astonishment.

It was amazing. That was what the Old Serum could do. It could take you out in an instant, and from the looks of Rachel's rejuvenated, red ireless eyes, it gave the one to brave it's wrath sanity's highest form of insanity.

Maybe that was why the Court had stopped using it after her.

Now, she had ordered for him and a boy he knew not the name of to follow her. Nikkola, probably because she knew his name, but the boy?

Well, he _was_ pretty.

"Good," Rachel hummed, stopping at what Nikkola believed to be the Grandmaster's office. Sure enough, the blood stains on the floor and the lavish décor and pricey furniture of the 1900's told stories enough. "Now, your names."

"Nikkola Romanova," Nikkola said after a respectful pause. This side of Rachel seemed to appreciate some form of manners and respect and that Nikkola could do. "Born sometime in ve late 1800's."

Rachel raised an appreciating eyebrow, " _Beautiful name_ ," she grinned in Russian.

"Eudarv Nschechol," the pretty boy nodded gently. "Former Trainer, Talon's Right Hand and a nobody from Danmark's late 1100's. Grandparents were Vikings - as you people call them now. Parents were some o' the last to convert."

Rachel clapped, "Very good, very good. You both have the Old one in yous then, yes?"

"Да."

" _Sandelig_."

Rachel giggled like a child, yet she appeared nothing like one, poised regally behind that large haunting desk as she was. "And you, Eudarv - you are as loyal as you say?"

"I'd hope so," Eudarv said, his sarcasm running clear.

Luckily, Rachel seemed to find it amusing. "Happy. Happy. _Da, da._ Congratulations, Eudarv. Former Right Hand no more, alas your position is restored! Well done, and if you so wish, you may be a Trainer as well."

Eudarv nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Call me Queen, sweetheart." Rachel winked, "Unforgiving in your practice, _ja_?"

Eudarv seemed happier at the speak of his mother tongue. " _Ja_ , Majesty."

"Oh I like that too, very good, Eudarv! You may be dismissed." Rachel clapped and smiled at his back until the grand black oak door slammed shut in his wake.

"Now," she purred at Nikkola, tone dipping into one of gleeful righteousness. A true tale of lost sanity, in his books of knowledge. "Nikkola, darling-"

She was behind him suddenly, hands trailing the bridge between his shoulder blades and up to his jaw. Her breath was hot in his ear but Nikkola stood there with no outward reaction. He didn't want to risk pushing her lines.

"What did you do, once upon a time?"

"I was merely a Talon, your Highness." She chuckled in his ear at the name, pulling her chest to lean against his back - and damn did she have a rack on her.

"Merely a Talon?" She breathed, "Don't be silly, no one is 'merely' anything in my Court."

A pinprick of dread filled him at the notion of Rachel doing anything other than ruling with the Court. He didn't want to ask what she had in mind though.

"You have a question," she murmured, in front of him now, lips scraping along his jaw line. She seemed to have a thing for jaws. "Speak your mind, it's a free world."

"If you really don't mind me asking, your Highness," Nikkola swallowed the doubt. "What do you intend to do with this Court - with _your_ Court?"

"Hush," her soft, lithe fingers pressed against his lips in a shushing motion. Rachel rested her head on his collarbone. "Don't say that name here. We are the Remnants now and we will become a fierce power in our own right. We will rule the underground from the shadows. We will kill who we don't like and we _will_ reign over Gotham."

"Even with Batman out there?"

"Yes," she laughed, the sound smothered against his neck. "Even with the Bat out there we will lurk."

"This sounds quite like the League of-"

"Yes. I'm aware," Rachel cooed. "But there is one difference between us and them. Do you know what that is?"

"Power balance?"

She caressed his throat, "Close, sweetie. We'll have total control of _everything_ in Gotham."

Then she was pulling away from him. "Go now." She ordered, "you are my Second in Command, sweet stuff. Go make your place known."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nikkola's surname was very much so intended. Wasn't meant to offend anyone so if it did get over it.


	21. Corrugated Teeth

 

"I'm going to cut patrol in half tonight, Jason." Bruce was standing behind him, his stony face reflected in the tv's screen. Funny, Jason hadn't even noticed he was there. That was probably a sign he needed to train more. Or at least, Bruce would say something along those lines so Jason played his surprise off, flicking through the channels and landing on the news for Gotham.

"Why?"

"Rachel's still missing."

_"-body found in the Gotham reservoir sewers, police are currently appealing for information on the man-"_

"So?" Jason bit out, Bruce had been raging on about her for what felt like years. "So what if she's missing? Get over it, she's either coming back or she's not. It's safe to say that after three weeks, she's gone for good. I'm sure she's fine. I bet she ran away for a reason."

Bruce seemed to be in as much shock at his words as Jason was in for actually saying them.

Then, the man blinked, bowed his head for a moment and stood. When his head rose again his eyes were steely and decided. "Right then, Jason. Patrol will be at the usual time."

Jason turned back to the tv and changed the channel away from the news where they were talking to some lackey of a Company for some scandal.

 _'Bout damn time he let her go,_  he grumbled.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

"Your Highness," Nikkola's voice came from behind her. Rachel hummed, turning around in the new chair, stolen from god know's where, that spun. A bit like the one in the Bat Cave. The voice advised her to push down that thought so she did. "Trouble has been stirring in the Alley."

"Oh?" She asked, "Of what kind?"

"The Joker kind, Majesty," Eudarv said, striding through the grand doors with an impenetrable air of confidence around him. Nikkola had to say, the army camo trousers suited him immensely, as did how he'd slicked his golden blond hair back. The tank top did well to show off his defined chest and arm muscles.

Honestly, Nikkola wondered if the Dane spent his entire life working out.

"Ah," Rachel seemed annoyed at this, her brow furrowing. Nikkola shared a look with Eudarv.

"I could send someone out," Eudarv suggested. They all knew who the Joker was. To get rid of him would increase their presence immensely. Of course, that was only if Rachel wanted to risk sacrificing a few men (or women) before the lunatic was properly dealt with.  _Permanently._

"No," Rachel shook her head at the very notion, showing how there was definitely a working brain in that head of hers. "I won't send any of you on a damned mission. Gotham has had run-ins with him before. Batman shadow walks for a reason - he'll deal with him."

Eudarv seemed wary, "Are you sure it's a good idea to be - ah, how do people say - placing all your eggs in one basket, Majesty?"

Rachel really must've liked Eudarv's face (or perhaps it was how he continually called her Majesty?) because the guy kept his head on that neck of his. Just the other day Nikkola had seen one of the Talons beheaded because he'd looked at her the 'wrong' way. Of course though, all theories aside, she could just be in a good mood. "Has he destroyed anything of ours?"

"Not yet, your Highness," Nikkola added.

"Nothing that we know of, at least, Majesty." Eudarv remarked.

Rachel tilted her head to the side, as she was so fond of doing of late. Her red eyes glittered in the chandeliers' light. "Say, Eudarv, would you like to have some fun tonight?"

Nikkola stayed back, out of the way as Eudarv tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Only should you wish it, Majesty."

Rachel cackled, "I like a man with his own mind."

"Very well, Majesty."

"Good," She continued a second later, back on track as she leaned back in her seat and moved it from side to side, a faraway look on her face. She blinked and it was gone. " _Da,_  have someone keep an eye out for him, Eu. Nikko I want you to post someone on damages, have them make sure everything is where it should be."

"As is your wish, Majesty." Eudarv bowed and took his leave. Nikkolas echoed and turned to go.

"Oh, and Nikkola?" Rachel spoke up just as he was about to leave through that magnificent wooden door.

"Yes, your Highness?" He turned.

"Have someone trustworthy do it,  _da_? If not, do it yourself. I won't let this fall like the old Court. We're operating well enough under the Bat's radar - don't spoil that."

"I wouldn't dream otherwise, my Queen." Nikkola smiled and left.

Rachel's deranged laugh flooded the hallway, even with the door shut.


	22. A Robin's Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's accent revolves around missing the ending g to most things, like... running turns into runnin'. 
> 
> cough cough... Feel free to R&R.
> 
> (Please.)

 

 

It was an odd night, tonight. Neither warm like it usually was in Spring and not cold like it was when the seasons encroached into Autumn. Maybe it was a sign, Jason mused. A sign that something (namely, _shit_ ) was about to go down.

"Robin," Bruce growled, voice low like it was when he was playing Batman. Really, Jason just thought it sounded like the guy was hacking up a lung but apparently the criminals didn't think that. _Ha,_ they _obviously_ didn't because _they ran_ with their tails between their legs! "I hope you're paying attention, Joker's been spotted."

_Ah, well damn._ Maybe Jason should watch the weather more often. It obviously knew whatever secrets there were to the art of fortune telling. (Or future... telling. What ever the fuck was the difference between the two anyway? Was there even one?)

"'Course I'm listenin, Batm'n," he grinned. "I ain't got anythin' else ta do out 'ere."

Bruce didn't look too convinced so he toned down his 'shit-eating' (as Catherine had called it one too many times) grin, transforming it into a small smirk.

"Trust me," he added, teetering on the edge of the skyscraper they'd taken a momentary residence on. His black boots blended well with the sleek gravel on the top, and the only thing that actively made him stick out was his bright _amarillo_ cape. "How long've I been out 'ere wit' ya? A year?"

Bruce gave him a side glance, " _Barely_  half of one."

"Aha - but still _half a year_!" Bruce fell silent after that so Jason counted it as a win.

Ten minutes later, their comms binged.

//There's been another sighting of the Joker, Master Batman, Robin.\\\ Alf said, his voice crackling in Jason's ear.

//Ping me the coordinates, Agent A.\\\ Bruce grunted, hunkering down into a squat as he poked at his gauntlet screen. Not a second later, "He's over by the old cigar factory. We'll have to take the Batmobile."

Jason laughed, glad to be getting away from the clammy weather as he fired his grapple to the nearest alley where he knew the car to be. "Yeah well, ya don't see me complainin'!"

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The cigar factory looked ready to fall down any second if the wind hit its old red bricks the wrong way. The inside of it wasn't much better either: dusty, mouldy and definitely not warmer than it was outside. Abandoned bits of machinery were left lying to gather dust and house rodents. Chairs were flung about as if the people had been in a hurry to get out and half the building was nothing more than charred stabilizers that had miraculously survived the harsh years and bitter weather. In short, the once nice building was nothing but a husk of its former early 1900's glory.

"The place shut down in the late 80's," Bruce had grunted on the drive there. "After a mysterious fire broke out on the second floor, taking half the interior with it. Be careful of weakened floorboards if you go upstairs."

Jason had laughed, "From your description, Batm'n, this place sounds like it should'a fallen down years ago. How come none o' y'all rich'ns have did it up since?"

"Not all billionaires like to mess around with big old buildings." Bruce had answered.

"Guess it takes an acquired taste, huh?"

Now that they were here, trudging through sludgy remains of desks, chairs and anything and everything from clothing and even bits of the damn roof, Jason wished someone _had_ pulled it down. As if the building had been waiting for that very thought, the walls gave an ominous creak.

"What does the Joker want that's makin' him hang round this place?" Jason sighed, hoisting his glow stick up further in the damp, particle thick air.

"Good question, kid!" The devil himself called. His voice that echoed around them, from who know's where, was lathered with such fake cheer it sounded like a toilet flushing. To Jason, at least. "Can you tell 'em, Harley?"

"Sure can, Mistah J!" The female wanna-be jester cooed, lovestricken. She appeared out of nowhere suddenly, her huge wooden hammer raised high above her head, ready to swing.

Jason vacated his previous spot just in time to see the dust fly high from the hammer hitting the ground. Harkey winked at him before following him up too, arching her body to be more aerodynamic as she hefted the immense weight of the hammer up again and nearly wacked his head off in the exact same breath.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on their ends, doing circus tricks of their own as Jason mustered up the rhythm to back flip away from the looming danger. Barks that sounded more like howls sounding from the corner alerted him to the rather new and pressing danger of _fucking_ hyenas.

Thank _dios_ for grappling hooks. For never before than in that heart thundering moment has Jason ever needed one more. The sides of the building proved to be as sturdy as ever for Jason to cling to, using loose bricks jutted out of place to haul himself up onto a windowsill that was so high up he wondered why it was even there.

"What happened sweet little Nightwing, Batsy Boo?" Joker cackled, appearing to be standing on a bigger, lower windowsill just to the left of Jason's position.

Jason seized the opportunity without a second thought.

The grapple landed before Joker could even realise what he was doing and by the time he was reeling back, thinking Bruce had come after him, Jason was already on him, birdarang held threateningly close to the troublesome man's throat.

"She's busy," Jason hissed. "I'm Robin."

"Robin!" The man howled, shaking from laughter as he pulled his head back, despite the birdarang positioned at the base of his throat. It scraped him in the movement and a bead of blood welled up before trickling down the side of his leathery bleached skin.

Jason looked up at unforgiving silence and saw serious blue eyes staring back at him.

"You cut me?" Asked Joker, smile replaced by a frown that would surely haunt Jason's dreams for years to come.

"Robin!" Bruce shouted and suddenly Joker had pushed him off the windowsill, smiling down at him as he waved, and _oh mi dios_ he was going to die from the fall -- the height alone would kill him, nevermind the force of the impact -- oh _dios --_ _oh_ _dios--_

The familiar bulk of Bruce's suit slammed into him, an arm wrapping around his shoulders as his grappling hook fell slack. Next thing Jason knows they're slamming through the brick wall with a loud crunch and the building's shaking as it crumbles in on itself.

The dust is terrible. His nostrils burn from the shit.

Jason blinks at it all with surreal, unbelieving eyes. "Did that ju-?"

"Yes," Bruce grunted, helping him to his feet - as wobbly as they were - and brushing his own black and grey suit off from the white clingy dust. He peered back at the building from where they'd ended up in its backyard court area. "It appears we'll have to find them again."

"Huh?" Jason asks, gaze snapping to the building as two white human figures limped from the building, three dog-like hunched animals following them. Joker and Harley were escaping. "Why don't we just--?"

"No," Bruce's gauntleted hand closed down on his shoulder and a rare smile pulled at Batman's lips. "It's okay. All that matters is that we both made it out safely."

Guilt swamped him and Jason looked down in shame. "Sorry, I just -- I don't even know what I was thinkin'--"

"It's fine, Robin." Bruce cleared his throat. "Let's call it a night, yeah?"

//I'll have two mugs of hot chocolate prepared and waiting, Masters.\\\

Jason smiled as Bruce led them back to the Batmobile.


	23. Tulips Don't Bloom In Blood; Roses Do

 

 

"You called, Ma'am?" Nikkola said as he pushed open the grand doors. He was greeted with the sight of Rachel, draped in but a silken red nightgown, pouring herself a glass of alcohol by the glass cabinet to the right of her desk.

"I did, Nikko," she smiled, nudging at the empty glass beside hers as an offering. "Would you like some?"

"What is it?" He asked, coming forth to sit in the seat on the visitors' side of her desk.

"Only the best Polish Vodka," she grinned, pouring him a glass.

Her long legs peeked through the silk as she strode over to him, attempting to nudge the glass into his hands despite his well-mannered protests. She placed the diamond cut glass in front of him on her desk when he refused to take it.

The light looked good on her skin, giving it a golden glow. Suddenly, Nikkola was very jealous of Eudarv.

"What was it you wanted?" Nikkola asked, not bothering to beat round the bush.

Rachel smiled, red lipstick thickening her lips as she bumped up against her desk, casually leaning upon it. "Not something I want. A warning must be given, Nikko."

That peeked his curiosity. "To whom?"

"You." Her breath was against his earlobe suddenly, her hand curling around the nape of his neck softly as she leaned down.

"Eudarv is doing well," she hummed, not noticing - or maybe, not caring about - the stricken emotion that crossed his face. "You on the other hand... you are falling _behind_."

Nikkola didn't dare speak as she pulled away to sip at her vodka. He was thankful that she'd set his on the desk beforehand, as now his hands shook like a land undergoing an earthquake.

"At this rate," her finger jabbed into his chest painfully. Nikkola suppressed his wince. "You'll be-" her voice lowered to a deadly whisper, her eyes flickering coyly as she leant back, "- _demoted."_

Nikkola wasn't stupid. He knew what that meant.

She'd kill him if he lost his appeal.

"How could I prevent that, my Queen?" He asked, using the name she adored.

Rachel smiled at him like she knew his ploy but still played along. "Joker was not dealt with like I said. I want him brought to me."

Nikkola gulped, "That is not my field--"

"Get it done," she growled, half filled glass clattering on the desk as she dropped it to grip at his collar, forcing him to stand, not a drop spilled. "Get it done, Nikkola, or mark my words you'll never see the light of daybreak ever again."

He stumbled as she pushed him back, snarling at him as if he disgusted her. Nikkola attempted to brush himself off, to regain his composure but she screamed again.

"Go!" She howled like an angry wolf. She pointed towards the doors and her intention was clear. "Do it now! No casualties or _so help me!"_

"Yes, my Queen."

Nikkola fled.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

The thought to run while out in the open swam in his innermost treacherous mind. The urge was large, backed dauntingly by the promise of death should he fail but Nikkola stood (more like, crouched) his guard on the  iron railings, waiting.

He'd found Joker's most recent hideout after the devil had been chased quite literally away from the cigar factory that was nothing more than dust now. It was a surprise Batman hadn't yet caught wind of the rumours and investigated but Nikkola wasn't in the mood to tempt fate.

Nor did he have time to.

Presently, the clown was with the jester. Nikkola was unsure of what they were to each other, as it was much of a laugh-hate-kill relationship. Nikkola wasn't a councillor either so it didn't quite matter now that he thought about it.

The glass he watched them through was good and resilient. It let no sound through and no doubt protected them from the wind that constantly battered New Jersey's Gotham. He'd been crouched out here on their upper floor balcony for a good hour and they hadn't yet noticed.

So they were either drunk or they just didn't care. (They were insane anyway and for all he knew both options could be applied.)

The wind licked at his TIC's silver armour - a special endowment upon him thanks to his position - and made it no further than the thermal layer he'd had the foresight to slip on before he left.

While the Talon suits were good for flexibility and quick or aborted movements, they were thin and whilst the armour was decent (one was expected to dodge all hits anyway, so the Court had deemed heavy armour a waste of resources) it was terribly made and so the ruffles of metal plating along the chest (to replicate an owl's puffy chest) let in an awful breeze.

He hadn't even started on the metal plate trousers where the metal froze his tender (thermal leggings covered) skin and covered everywhere _but_ the joint.

Either miserable people or terrible designers had had a part in making these shambles of a uniform.

(Or both.)

Truly, it was ghastly. Absolutely _terrible._

Joker stood from where he sat inside, approaching the open landing where the window was situated  - _inside_ where it was warm and cosy looking, even in this bottomless warehouse-turned-apartment. Nikkola snapped himself out of his day dreaming just in time for his hood's Owl Eyes to adjust, showing heat signatures.

He was about the normal temperature for a human, if a tad colder, aside from a rather gun shaped slodge in his hand, hidden by his body. The man was _definitely_ moving into the open area opposite the window.

Nikkola reacted before the first gun shot pierced the chilly night air.

"Get it, Mistah J!" Harley was screaming inside, cheering drunkenly as she lounged on the couch, a bottle of untameable bacardi in her hands.

Joker got three shots off in quick succession, all of which turned out to be pot shots, painting an outline of where Nikkola had once been.

His adrenaline stained his veins, pulling them out and making them bulge as his inner Talon rushed forth, screaming like a demon in Nikkola's head.

_"Shame,"_ Nikkola cooed, digging his greedy mental claws into a speed he hadn't used in the years after the Court's fall. He stood before the fool in a moment's notice. _"I thought you'd put up more of a fight, Clown Prince of Crime."_

His silver claws traced the man's racing pulse, one retracting gently to catch the gun before it was shoved into his sternum. Unfortunately the shot went off, spraying his blood behind him in a shower.

Not to worry. His healing was up to notch and he spat out the bullet, the wound sealing instantly. Harley screamed in abolished glee behind him, coming forth with her hammer after staring wide-eyed at the bloodied bullet for a second, dumbstruck.

Nikkola suppressed his laugh as he whirled them around, Joker out in front, ready to take the hammer's hit. Harley stumbled back just in time to merely crack the wooden floorboards instead of her partner in crime's head.

_"Careful,"_ he sing-songed, a darkness he hadn't met in years seeping out of him in his excited words. _"We wouldn't want anyone to loose their head here, yesss?"_

"Who're you?" Harley said, sounding more vulnerable than a newborn kitten now that she'd put up a fight and lost. "What d'ya wan' with Mistah J an' me?"

Nikkola let himself laugh this time, catching Joker's hands to squeeze them in a near bone breaking grip as they came up for an uncoordinated punch. _"Just Joker, sugar. My Queen requests his presence in her Court, if all goes well, he will be returned to you by Midnight."_

Harley looked stuck between pissing herself and rushing to help Joker, who was wincing and squirming in his grip. "A- An' what if he ain't?" She asked fearfully.

Nikkola cocked his head to the side in a show of insanity that made most back up and sprint for the prayer book and beads; and in some cases, the holy water. _"Then he will have been declared as unimportant. You may find him in the Reservoir."_

Harely squeaked at that foreshadowing.

"What if I tell some'n?" She asked, mustering up some foolhardy courage. "What'll y'all do?"

_"I'm sure you're well aware of the phrase, 'Snitches get stitches'?"_

Harley paled and that was answer enough. Nikkola let his Owl Eyes glow brighter before he flung the needle of sleeping drugs at Quinn's neck.

" _Hey_ \--!" Joker choked out before he too got a needle in the neck.

Nikkola cackled. Oh, this had went _so well._ Her Majesty would be _pleased._


	24. ...And Their Thorns Are Sharp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back guys, sorry for the long wait.

 

 

Rachel entered the Arena's Seated Tiers and everyone fell silent.

"Good to see that you all could make it," she announced, standing before her throne. With all eyes on her, she couldn't help but grin. "As I'm sure you've heard, Nikkola went out to see if he could get our most recent pest; the Joker."

Murmurs swept through the ex-Courtiers seats that now seated her Talons-- no, her  _Remnants_.

She clapped her hands once and silence washed over everything. The sight was beautiful, ( _of course it is_ , whispered that voice in her ears) over a dozen gaudy yellow eyes staring at her from the mass of shadows that bathed and writhed in their stands. Their armour caught on the odd beams of light reflected from the scarred marble of the fighting arena and glimmered a most mesmerising gold, just a hint darker than those pure, bright eyes.

"Now," she said after too long a pause. One that had only garnered tension and ruffled already sparse patience. "We will see if he has succeeded!"

She banged her hands off the ornate wooden railings in front of her, the ones that used to separate the Grandmaster from his Courtiers. The sound was more than enough to have the room coil in noise; hollers and jeers sounding everywhere, ones that barely even died down when Nikkola flashed into the arena, a limp Joker by his side. The man peeled back his hood to show a cruel grin that stood out like a wolf's snarl.

Anger flushed her as for a moment Rachel thought he'd killed the clown against her orders. Then, the man stirred and Nikkola dropped him, rolling his neck to signify his power of speech.

The Remnants fell silent.

"As per the Queen's wishes, I have collected Gotham's and _our_ most recent plague. The one we know as the Joker!"

Cheers erupted once again, loud dreadful things that had Rachel smiling.

"Such an easy task," Eudarv suggested from behind her. "I don't see why they're so lively of it."

Rachel walked away from the railings, disappearing from her spotlight. She sat in her throne, Eudarv standing a vicious guard to her left.

"Their moral has been low recently-" the accusation was there, clear as day, and Eu bowed his head. Moral was _his_ job. "-give them this, before something worse comes."

"Such as?" The man asked, quickly adding, "Majesty."

Rachel spared him a glance. "War."

Because she had _plans._

Eudarv sputtered beside her, choking on his saliva as Nikkola appeared on her right. Rachel turned her attention to him.

"Nikko," she called, snapping the man's gaze away from the still coughing Eudarv. Nikkola's head bounced down to meet her eyes, a wild sliver of bloodlust beating in those ivory orbs. A well known feeling of want curled in her gut. "Well done."

The man smiled, falling down to one knee, catching her hand on the way. He pulled the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it, a wicked glint burning in his eyes. "It is my honour, my lady. I live to please."

_Go on,_ the voice goaded. _You know you want to._

Rachel pulled Nikkola closer, smelling the tantalizing scent of blood. "Come to my bed with me tonight, _da,_ my Second?"

Nikkola preened, "It would be my pleasure, my lady."

Rachel turned to see her people's eyes staring at her expectantly. She stood and strode over to her stage again, her veins thruming with vicious glee.

 

 

-/-/-

 

 

His head hurt like a bunch of Jack-in-the-Box's were whacking at it.

Joker peeled his eyes open to a rugged, cold marble floor and bright, bright lights. Jeers of substantial volume echoed around him.

"What will we do with the scrounge that dirties our City?" A voice boomed, built out of confidence and madness.

"Kill it, kill it, kill it!" Jeers rang out, voices screaming from the dark, dark shadows that swarmed like angry hornets from back home. Joker swallowed his spit and sat up, listening keenly to how the cheers turned into anger filled howls of death bringers. "Kill the scrounge!"

"What will we do?" The confident voice shouted again, goading the howlers and their reactions.

"Make him watch as we burn him alive!" Something - someone - screamed and Joker couldn't help the laugh that bubbled forth.

"You find this funny?" A new voice thundered, all critical hits and utter hatred.

"No, no." He giggled, pulling up a leathery hand to smush at his lips to try and stop the sounds. "Don't pay too much attention to me, say where is that chap who caught me?"

"You speak of the SIC," the very first voice hummed, a sweetened tune to their song as they too cackled. The crazed hint to it out matched anything he'd ever heard by far. "Yes, we hope he treated you well, Jack."

Joker's blood ran cold. His smile dropped. "What?"

"Thought we wouldn't know who you are, Napier?" Someone added from the sidelines where nothing but shadows and pinpricks of yellow shuddered.

"We know who you are!"

"The Remnants know everything that happens in their Glorious Gotham!" Another shout added and the shadows bustled with life, ready to shout once more.

"Silence."

Everything fell into a deafening hush where Joker could barely breathe. He was in some sort of an arena, the walls adorned with blood splatters and ornate ludicrously carved pillars of older design and taste. The floor was checkered with black and white and had scores marked into it, blood welling in some of the deeper cuts.

It was amazingly horrific.

Joker _loved_ it.

Except for the fact they knew his old name.

No one was meant to know that. At least, _no one alive._

"Do you know why you're here, clown?" The first voice boomed again, sounding distinctly feminine now as the sounds retracted and bounced off the circular room's walls. (Or did it have _walls_? Maybe it just had one, it was a circle after all. He'd never really cared for that math much.)

"I overdid my stitches?" He laughed.

"You walked on _our_ turf. You wronged Gotham's ground and thus, Jack Napier, Joker, you wronged us; _the Remnants."_

Joker giggled, festering in nervous energy as his fingers scratched at his palms, an old nervous habit coming to light. "I've never heard of these Remnants, care to explain to little old me?"

"We are the survivors of the Court," the feminine voice twittered with deadly excitement. One that meant people were to die, if Joker knew well enough, going from himself. "We purge our City of filth by night and by day we hunt like the Owls our ancestors never were."

Joker didn't know what to say to that.

He knew of the Owls though. He'd heard of them. They'd been all the rage in Blackgate, it was all ol' Two-Face could talk about for weeks.

_The Court of Owls,_ he'd shouted. _They're planing something, I tell ya, they're planning! They'll burn us- burn us all before any of us even see freedom--_

And then the warden had drugged him. He hadn't said a peep for the next three days.

That hadn't stopped the rumours though. The rumours that 'what if he was right', 'heard Batman's hittin' a spot of trouble with someone who calls 'emsleves the Court. Think it's got somethin' to do with Harvey's ramblin's?' and, then, 'heard Batman's gone missing. It could be _them.'_

Joker pushed back the urge to clap and grin and smile because this was _them_. The ones who'd very nearly burnt beautiful, lovely Gotham to the ground but had been halted by Batman. Here they were, talking to him with hopes of... _protecting_ 'their' city.

"So y'all're _protecting_ Gotham now?" He chuckled. "I thought you all just wanted it burnt?"

"That was the Court," the angry voice said. "We are new. People and demons reborn onto this world to rule it's axis. We are the Remnants."

"Right, right." He raised his hands in what was hopefully a peaceful action. "I get it but doesn't that just mean you're filled with all the evil those old boys had, too?"

"You misunderstand, Jack." A woman appeared before him, skin aglow with colour, eyes burning a bloody red, dress pleated so many times it looked like she was a royal from years before their time. She flicked her hands out, long lithe fingers caressing along his jaw. "The Remnants are mine. Gotham is mine. We stand here and we kill those who disobey our rule. We slaughter those who stand in our way and you, Napier - you are _in our way."_

The arena exploded in screams. Everyone chanting things in low gutteral sounds that Joker couldn't and didn't want to make out.

"If you wish to live, Jackie boy, you'll do us a few... _favours_. Yes?"

With a heart he'd thought long gone thumping in his ears, Joker agreed to the howls of the Remnants that surrounded and choked him.

"O- Of course."

The woman smiled, her eyes glowing with fire. "Very good, Jack. You may call me your Queen."


	25. Sometimes it's the Effort that Doesn't Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know where I was going with this chap, guys. Me is sleep deprived.

 

"I mean, think about this, who goes about with a missing kid and doesn't do anything about it?" Barry knew he was on unstable ground, Clark's pained look said enough, but this had to be said. With Hal off-world for at least another month, Iris busy with the paper over in Indonesia for a good two weeks still and Wally nagging him about where Nightwing had gone, he was getting stressed.

One, because Iris could handle Wally better than him. Now that she was gone, off trying to write a story to garner awareness on the conditions the residents of Indonesia lived in, Barry was left alone to deal with their son's puppy eyes and stubborn questions.

Two, because Wally didn't seem to understand the meaning of MIA despite Hal's constant talk of it (and subsequent explainations).

Three, Nightwing - Rachel! - was Missing In Action and Bruce wasn't doing anything about it.

Or was she even missing? God, with the Bat it was hard to know what was happening but Bruce had clearly stated Nightwing would probably be back in action soon (he'd repeated it to them all like a mantra when they'd individually asked about the man's daughter). But then, with Gotham Teller saying (along with various other Gotham Newspapers) that Nightwing had went missing - or as they said, "hasn't been spotted in over five months" - Barry had gotten worried.

Because Bruce, despite how they all tried to make him open up, was as stubborn as a clam when he was shut. And no one had found the right knife to split him open yet so Barry couldn't help his worry. Bruce was an unknown surrounded by knowns.

That spelt danger of all sorts.

"We do not even know if the girl is missing, Flash." J'onn calmed, blank eyes somehow placating. "Batman would've told us otherwise, do you not think?"

"Yeah, but I bet we only knew about CADMUS because our kids were there too." Oliver said, bracing the storm that came with that reminder.

They all fell into an uneasy hush. Surprisingly, it was Orion who broke it.

"I say, if Batman needs help, Atlantis and I will freely aid him." The King announced, just as the doors flung open, the Dark Knight himself stepping into the room, Robin following behind at a cool, sedate pace. There was no Nightwing but that wasn't unsurprising. It probably would've been more surprising _had_ she been there.

Bruce's eyebrow raise was practically visible to everyone around the table despite the cowl. "What was that about aid, Aquaman?"

"Pre'ty sure he was say'n' he'd help ya, B." Robin drawled, jumping up to sit on the table with his back to everyone but Bruce. Bruce didn't reprimand him for it, much to Barry's ire. The boy merely smirked at his glare.

"Indeed, I was." Orion confirmed. "I wish to let you know, Batman, that should you or your family need help, I will come."

The boy grinned, showing his canines. Bruce merely nodded.

"T'at's nice," Robin squinted at the hologram that popped up from the table at Bruce's beckoning. It was about their next topic of discussion, currently showing their logo of 'JLA' as Clark (who was in charge of this meeting) hadn't yet sent his talk plan to the computer yet. Talk about _unprepared._

"Well," the boy sighed, jumping off the table and heading for the door. "Ping me when you're done, B. I'll be getting ice cream."

Barry watched as he left.

"How old is he?" He asked with more venom than intended when the doors shut. "Huh, Bruce? How young are you willing to take this after nearly losing your _daughter?"_

Bruce seemed wholly unimpressed, "Robin chose to do this of his own accord. I had no hand in it."

Diana spoke up for the first time, "We're sure, Bruce. Barry is merely concerned, much like the rest of us."

"There is no cause for concern," Bruce snipped, "By any case, Robin is older than your child, Allen, if that helps."

The topic of Wally's age stung like it had for so long, with newspapers and media all asking the same question. Wally was the youngest sidekick out there by far and he wasn't spared harsh words because of it. Barry opened his mouth to fire back.

Clark cleared his throat awkwardly, interrupting their spat. "Why don't we start? Our first topic is— ah— rising pollution rates; namely, Gotham's."

Bruce stood up and left, his cape wallowing after his steady footsteps.

Diana sighed. "We tried."

J'onn asked, "Did we really?" He disappeared through the floor.

_Damn it._ Barry leant back in his chair, his head hitting the back.


	26. Off The Rails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel dips into insanity more than she does sanity.

 

"Jack," she droned.

"Joker, please." Jack said, his eyes dialated. He hadn't stopped fidgeting since Rachel had brought him to her office, obviously trying to not turn around and look at the door guarded by both Nikkola and Eudarv.

He looked like a frightened puppy, cowering as he was before her on the floor. She'd been worried for a moment that he could see her panties from where she sat on her desk but a scared puppy had no reason to disobey the rules even further and risk greater punishment.

He was just a puppy after all.

Minus any and all cuteness.

It was the dogs you had to look out for, too.

Joker was just a harmless little puppy that got a little hyper from no attention. That was all.

"Very well, Joker." She ammended. "These favours will expand to how many I so wish, understood?"

Joker seemed hesitant but he gulped before nodding. Rachel took that as a yes easily enough.

She nodded anyway. "Firstly, you will stay away from my territories of Lower Gotham. Da?"

"Y-Yes." She glared and he spluttered to compensate. "My Queen."

"Good. Any input, boys?"

Nikko stayed silent as Eudarv smirked.

"Perhaps we could play around with him for a bit, Majesty. Ja?"

Rachel scowled at him. That wasn't the response she'd wanted.

The puppy cowered further.

"Later." She said with no intention to truly uphold it. "Joker."

"Ye-Yes, my Q-Queen?" He'd begun to tremble at some point. Of when, Rachel didn't particularly care but at the rate he was going he looked ready to drop dead.

She couldn't have that, not with a war on the horizon.

Blood paints the streets, the voice whispered. I see it and soon it will come. Soon, you see this glorious sight too!

"I want your word that you will stay loyal. You tell a soul about this, even Harley, and everyone within a twenty block radius will be dead in a second, you included. Understood?"

"Of course, M-Ma'am!" He was whiter than he'd been when he'd first appeared. White as a sheet now, he was.

The Clown Prince of Crime was such a _funny_ man.

"Dismissed. Deal with him Nikko. Eudarv stay."

A second later Nikkola was gone, the Joker toddling along behind him, and Eudarv was striding towards her, pouting in what he thought was a cute way.

Maybe once upon a time, it had been cute to her too.

"I thought we were going to have some fun, Majesty?" The man huffed, pulling up a hand to caress her thighs as he neared.

Rachel peered at him. She flicked her hand over to her glass drinking cabinet. "Fetch us a glass each, and some wine."

It wasn't a question but Eudarv shrugged and sauntered over there like he had a choice in the matter, his hand lingering. That had always been something she'd liked about the man; he had his own casual wave to things. Unfortunately, he'd been failing recently, failing both to do his job and to please her.

It was sad really, but what needed to be done had to be done. There were things called rules. Rules of which Rachel had set. They were _not_ to be broken.

Or else there was no point in her rule and that just wouldn't do, now would it?

A Court always needed its monarch's rule. Even if her Remnants were no longer the Court, they needed an iron clad rule to start with, rather than descending into anarchy amd having to pull itself up from its ashes.

She figured she'd save herself the trouble. It was good to set an example too.

No one was beyond death.

Not even her boy toys.

"You seem happy today," Eudarv smirked pulling up close to set the glasses on her desk, just off to her left, nestled in around the bottle of red wine. It was her dearest bottle, a good batch only for celebration.

It was a bad choice for there was nothing truly to celebrate. They were no further along the food chain than the Court had been ten years ago. She'd faked Nikkola's failings to get him motivated to catch her a toy; a toy that had raised moral.

Raised the moral that Eudarv was in charge of.

Maybe she'd freeze his body.

Yes. He was pretty and it _would_ be a terrible waste to dump those muscles in the sewers.

And it got suspicious if too many bodies showed up in the sewers. It was why they'd had to burn half those runaway-wishers and dump the rest of them in Ethiopia.

"I do?" She asked.

"Indeed," Eudarv smiled, nudging her legs apart and pulling her closer by the thighs. His breath was making her sweaty, too warm on her neck. "How about we have a little fun--?"

One of the two glasses was broken in a heartbeat and stabbed through his neck in the next. Eudarv choked, eyes wide as he clutched at the base of the shard.

It was then Rachel realised Eudarv had the Old Serum in him. Killing him was definitely going to be too much of a hassle.

The gun stashed in the second drawer of her desk was easily located. Loading and aiming was elementary school level and firing was by far the easiest step yet.

Eudarv slumped against the carpet, bleeding out on it, unconscious for now as his heart stitched itself back together, literally. Rachel tilted her head at his still form, evaluating on how to pick him up and drag him to the freezers without getting his vile blood over her dress. A kick to his face had him being proven as unresponsive so she took to merely dragging him along behind her by his leg.

Seems she needed a new boy toy.

_Good that we have just the one in mind then, da?_ Rachel laughed with the voice, uncaring as to the crowd that disappeared to the shadows upon sight of her.

Whispers followed her to the coffin room where she freezed him in his coffin.

Nikkola got a promotion.


	27. Liquidation (The Killing Type)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker acts.
> 
> ((First segment set in 1996, the rest in 2000.))

 

 

Selina peered down at the familiar body of a white skinned demon she knew the name of all too well. Jumping down to the narrow ledge of the bridge he was lying on, she blinked at the slack face of the Joker and wondered if he was truly dead for good this time.

Alas, Lady Luck was not yet her friend; Joker choked in a breath at a sharp kick to his ribs that had him simultaneously seizing and coughing up what appeared to be salt water.

Selina wondered if he'd went for a little swim. Wondered if the psyco's suicidal tendencies had finally gotten to him.

His eyes peeled open and he squinted at her. "Wha-?"

"Ya alright, Jokes?" She asked, deciding to speak up now before he could start making assumptions that would benefit neither of them.

"Who-?" He blinked at her before recognition passed through his eyes. Really, at this point, his eyes were the only expressive thing in the monster he'd become. Even before, it had been hard to find things that equalled joy, now it was even rarer to find emotions _other_ than insanity, hatred or a deformed amusement in those irises. "Selina?"

"The one and the only," she took a mock bow, leaning on her staff. The diamond necklace in her belt reminded her of her plans and spurred her along. "Taking a nap, J?"

"A nap?" The guy questioned, looking around him for a brief second before grinning and nodding excitedly as he jumped up to his feet, clapping his hands. He rubbed them like he was brewing a plan.

A plan Selina did not want to be part of.

"Why yes, my dear." He chuckled, not his trademark laugh but a soft thing that he only let out around other conspirators. "Say, would you want to help me with a little something?"

Selina edged back to the safety of the hulking structure of the bridge as Joker seemed to stare right through her, eyes stuck somewhere between his contraction of hate and dialation of glee. He looked unhinged and it sent Selina's instincts roiling.

"What would that something be, exactly?" She asked, not really wanting to fall into anything she couldn't easily climb out of.

"Oh, per say, the killing of a certain boy wonder?"

Selina's eyes widened behind the mask. "You're suicidal."

"Thank you for noticing," the man grinned. "Well, what do you say?"

She swallowed, already getting ready to jump back up to the podium she'd jumped off to get down to him. "I'm gonna lie low for a bit, Jokes. Pulled off a couple of big ones there and I'll be lucky if Bats doesn't show up on my doorstep in a few days."

Thankfully, Joker nodded in understanding. "Very well, I understand. Well, it was nice talking to you, Selina. See you soon."

"Sure," she said, freaked out, but he was already gone, having jumped off the ledge into the river that separated the city of Gotham from its countryside embankment.

Joker was fucking insane.

_Well,_ she thought. _He's called a psycho for a reason._

He was arrested three days later. The Boy Wonder lived and Selina eventually brushed off her worry, forgetting about the whole thing.

Joker was _only_ crazy after all. Nothing more but nothing less.

 

 

Joker knew what he needed to do. He knew what game to play and what route to take to win.

And if he pulled out a few cards he'd had stuffed up his sleeves, nobody knew.

So, when he was evidently captured and sent to Arkham, he plotted. But he didn't plot like usual, planning to toy and/or kill Batsyman. Nope.

He plotted to kill his bird.

Because Batman was nothing without his sidekick and his sidekick was nothing at all.

With the Boy Blunder out of the way, Joker could handle Batsy and take his rightful rule over the City. He'd kill that bitch "Queen" too, while he was at it.

Killing two birds with one stone, as they would say.

"Or three," he giggled, a cold grin spreading over his butchered lips. The sudden noise and movement earned a grunt from Harley.

"What time you thinkin' 'bout doin' this?" The one and only Two Face asked, large body nearly dwarfing Joker as he sat down beside him on a cafeteria break. He kept a good distance so not to arise suspicion but it was small enough that they could still talk in hushed tones.

"Oh," he hummed, "around twelve-ish tonight."

"You know that's when the Bat prowls." Two snarled, keeping his voice low but statement clear. He pushed his soup around in his bowl, sloshing the slush around the sides of the plastic and staining it. "That's suicidal."

"Aren't we all a little though," Joker laughed softly. Riddler sat down opposite and looked ready to spout some riddle. "There will be nine of us getting out, three for distraction and six big ones."

"Whom is whom?" Riddler murmured, picking at his special boy bread.

"I would be a main boyo," Mad Hatter grinned, collapsing down beside the questioner. Riddler twitched back, away from Joker's lunatic in arms. Funny, Edward never had liked Jervis.

"Indeedy," Joker dropped his smile as a guard sent them a customary glance. It wouldn't be good to act suspicious the very day before they got away, now would it? "I am also, with ol' Two Face here, Scarycrow, Riddle Kid and Crocy."

"Croc's in special containment today," Jonathan put in as he strolled over with his gluten-free crackers. "The big oaf decided to throw a fit about his new cell mate."

"That the one that tried to blow up Town Hall with a balloon?" Hatter rolled his eyes. "He should've at least tried to teach him a lesson on explosive chemicals beforehand. Everyone knows liquid fluoride isn't explosive, just like water isn't acidic."

"It ain't?" Two asked.

"No," Riddler shook his head before Hatter could express his peeved looking emotion at the failure of scientific teaching. "It is not. It is a compound and holds a neutrality of seven, completely balanced on the PH Scale."

Sometimes Joker wondered why Nygma didn't like Tetch. They were practically one in the same.

Riddles came with party jokes after all.

"Right, I didn't come here for science lessons with preschoolers," Jonny hissed, sitting down at their round table. Ha, round table. Like the Knights of the Round Table, only they were no Knights.

Nah. They were _criminal_ _s_.

The Criminals of the Round Table-- or how about, the Villains of the Round Table. Yeah, that last one sounded better.

"You going to let us in on your plan or not, Clown?"

"That better be said lovingly," Joker smiled but continued on anyway. "And if I must, I will. It's simple, a payed off guard will accidentally be caught by Hatter, be knocked out, have his keys stolen and Hatter will come around and let us all out."

"And if he don't?" Two Face snarled, sending Hatter a glare. Jervis mockingly raised his hands up in a grinned surrender.

Joker said, "Then he'll have to get out of here alone, with the Bat on his coattails."

Mad Hatter nodded, "I can diddly-do that plan."

 

 

The whole escape expedition went well, with Riddler letting loose a few unimportant low-liner criminals to keep Batsy busy when they ended up taking longer than wanted to get Croc out.

In the end, Joker had broken off the little Round Table Villain's Comitee and they'd all went their separate ways.

Currently, Batsy and Robin were ransacking the building he was hiding out in. Which was great because it was exactly what he wanted to happen.

He hadn't waited four years for nothing.

Joker was loyal, if crazy.

(He was simply different though, not - dare he say- _crazy._ )

The Clown Prince of Crime was no runagate.

He'd rounded up a few old gang members and had planted them around the building for Batsy. So, with Daddy Bats busy, he decided to cut his time bar down and just take Robin out now.

He found the boy tying up one of his clown-masked men behind a bar counter on the fifth floor. Batman was still on the third, dealing with about twelve men.

Joker had time.

"Robby-Boo," he called, skulking up behind him. The boy jumped and whirled around at his footsteps, stance spread defensive and teeth bared in a show of the animal he was. "How nice to see you so soon after last time."

"Last time?" The boy growled.

Ah. Of course, the boy didn't know of the Queen's death warrant on his head. He wondered how it had been kept quiet so well.

(Maybe he'd hallucinated it but he still dreamt of her and her cruel eyes and her vicious smirk, so he'd bet Quinn she was real.)

"Last time, when you put little old me away, Blunder Boy." He said instead.

"It worked well enough," Robin fired back. "Kept you away for four years. Why now?"

"Now?" Joker cackled.

Robin snarled, "Why break out now of all times? Why not when Mad Hatter broke out three years back, or when Two Face was having a killing spree?"

"Ah, dear boy." He stalked closer, aware of the boy's vicious snarl. It reminded him painfully of the Queen's. "You see, they were destined to fail, but now... now I can kill you without disruption."

Robin shouted something, springing back as Joker lunged, hands outstretched, coat jacket heavy. They broke into a flurry of punches and kicks, with Robin attempting a roundhouse that Joker caught and used to slam him into the ground. Robin lashed out at his arm and, hearing something crack, Joker flounced away as he shoved his hand into his jacket. Batsy's sidekick curled up on his legs, ready to pounce.

"I'd suggest you give up now, Boy Blunder." Joker pulled out one of Jonathan's presents for him -a small can that looked like deodorant spray- and sprayed the kid in the face as he hurdled forwards.

He dropped like a fly.

Joker laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

Batman appeared in the doorway and Joker watched gleefully from Edward's van's cameras as the man punched the wall in anger.

"You're so dead," Nygma said, shooting the rarely seen snarl of enrage on Batman a look of concern.

Joker chuckled, patting the sack the Boy Wonder was safely incapacitated in. He'd held his word to the Queen, no doubt she'd be off his back.

"Don't worry about a thing, Riddles. Just drive."

They drove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes guys, i have changed my line breaker to two spaces. Yay.


	28. It's Time for Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Or maybe, just _maybe,_ this _was_ the war the voice had spoken of.)
> 
> ((Set in 2000.))

 

She wore a kevlar suit draped in red and black mist as she stalked along the murky corridors of her Remnants' Maze. A feather light, heavily armoured cape licked at her heels and for some odd reason it soothed her as she treaded through the cobweb covered mess.

_“You fell."_ A deep, monotone voice hissed startling her. It's tone was unheard of in her presence; sheer, utter hatred. She looked around her Maze, eyes alight with fury as the voice chuckled, the sound booming through the walls and ground like an olden day's train clattering over the sewage system like it had not fifty years ago.

Rachel jerked as the scenery changed. Blurring into a crescendo of bright lights and unfamiliar moving shapes that disoriented and irritated her. A shadow stalked forward from nowhere, all courage and no power.

_“The first appeared, an angel of Spain hidden in plain sight. From pain and loss, hecollapsed.”_ The shadow latched onto her arm as a boy appeared from the depths of swirling colour, face blurred but head adorned by lovingly bright red hair that was cropped ever so slightly. His posture was proud and confident and Rachel felt something in her chest reach out to him before he half vanished in a swirling hole of colour.

Not thinking she ran forward, tugging out of the shadow's grip, hand outstretched as if she were to catch him. She tumbled through the hole left by him with the grace of a bear.

The shadow smirked at her as she fell, twisting in fake air as it disappeared into black smoke.

_“The second was born, only to be brushed off as dust. They burned.”_ She heard a different voice whisper in her ear as she saved her landing by rolling, coming to a stop and standing.

Another, younger looking, boy appeared to her left and she whirled to face him. He was skinny, short and his hair was black as night. His face, too, was blurred. Rachel attempted to walk over to him but her feet were stuck, held in place by forces that always remained unseen. A frown burned her face.

_“Another joined, but they were doomed.”_ It said again and a young female with long, stylish, blonde hair appeared as the boy melted into the ground. The blonde stood proudly in a purple and black suit. Her chest tightened as the girl waved at her, a cheeky grin plastered on her face, visible even through the blurs. She disappeared in a mess of black that looked like a rushed stroke of paint from a brush.

“What is this?” The last voice had spoken in Kalderash so she returned the favor, speaking loud enough so that her voice echoed around the empty cloud ridden area she'd ended up in. She knew none of these people and the confusion was rife in her veins.

No more blurry-faced people appeared and she was left staring down at a blood soaked suit hanging on a ragged mannequin.

It wasn't Bats’ nor was it the one from before - the girls - nor was it the one she wore. The suit was red and black with a long yellow-insided cape. A proud chestplate adorned with a sharp symbol of ‘R’ sitting firm on its chest. Something about it lit a flame in her head and subconsciously she decided she liked it, despite the blood.

Her surroundings fell from a light misty blue to a greying black that swarmed ferociously like fire. Rachel wondered when it had turned blue.

The first boy, with red hair that was turning black, appeared wearing it. Rachel's arm reached out to touch his shoulder - as if of its own mind - but he distorted before her eyes into a corpse. He stood there, blood gushing down his charred face, as a hand shot up, grabbing her shoulder.

She had no time to scream at the contact, at the steel bending grip, before the second boy appeared as the first disappeared. Now, he screamed insanities and was laughing mad. A handprint of ash burned a metaphorical hole in her shoulder as the shadow swirled up to cover her eyes, its grin recognisable even past her blindness.

_“Would you like to see the fates of more?”_

“Stop this," she growled. "Get out of my head.”

The second boy vanished, but not not before crumbling onto his knees, crying hysterically. Something akin to pity welled up inside her before she remembered no one offered her as such and pushed it down. Anger clenched her fists as the shadow swirled away, clouds sticking to it like a dress.

_“They trusted, they loved and you failed. You were soft and let them crumble for that they will be taken.”_

“No!” She bellowed, voice going hoarse in her panic. "You will not take any more from me."

A girl with long black hair stalked into a now whitewashed room, twirling a dagger not of the Remnants' in her nimble hands. “Sister,” said the girl and this time Rachel screamed.

“Begone! Go away!” She hit the ground in her swivet, a hard thump that brought her back to her senses.

Rachel watched, suddenly transfixed by fear, as the girl burst into a grey cloud of dust that swarmed forward like angry bees that had her cowering. When she opened her eyes again the girl was replaced by a young boy with short ruffled black hair and a katana slung on his hip.

He smirked at her uneasily, a damningly hopeful look on his young face. “Rachel? Is that you?”

She clawed herself backwards and screamed, eyes too wide for their sockets.

Rachel burst upright, chest burning as she forced air through her lungs. Her body shone in the darkness, covered in sweat. She felt like she'd died as she slowly pulled her head back down to earth.

A nightmare. It had been a _nightmare_.

The white blanket that pooled around her waist sent a glaring reminder of the dagger twirling girl into Rachel's head and the whitewashed room that accompanied her. She shivered and suddenly she could feel that _thing_ in her head again.

_Calm yourself,_ it whispered. Its being thick and sticky as tar in her head, a looming weight that pulled her further down towards Hell's gates.

She wouldn't be welcome there anyway. After four years of nothing but killing and parading about as a "Queen" she was nothing better than the filth she'd set out to destroy in the very beginning.

How many of her own had she killed in her stupid little quest?

Too many.

How many had she betrayed, faking power, hounding and pulling them about like dogs as she pleased?

The answer was not near as pleasant as she'd hoped.

_How ironic this happens after three years,_ she thinks brokenly. Horace, once upon a time, had bargained with her, originally wanting her to rule for five years. Rachel had only agreed for two, and yet she was. Still here.

It was 2000 for god's sake.

(Maybe Horace had known something she didn't.)

_Once secretive, always._ Hummed the call of the Old Serum. It had been fading recently, and for that Rachel was pleased, and what if her veins hurt a little more than usual because of it?

It was a price she was willing to pay.

Empty words, whispered the voice of rebellion - a voice she'd been hearing a lot more recently. War will come soon, don't fret child.

_But what if I do not want a war?_ She asked herself, despite how she'd been so ready for it years ago, even taunting of its coming to Eudarv (the bastard) it had not yet came and she'd grown weary.

(As all do, she reasoned.)

One will come, the voice whispered. For it is needed. It may not be yours but it will come.

_Set in stone yet?_ Because maybe she could change things before that happened. Not that she believed in that bullshit in the first place.

Long since, the voice chuckled. Someone will die and it will set the tide for the next decade.

_Sounds lovely,_ she thought just as her quarter's doors burst open, a furious knock resounding even as the doors slammed loudly.

Nikkola was panting, red in the face from running and not from seeing her naked, though he did have the decency to look away slightly. (Not that it was a new sight, but still.)

"Rachel," he gasped, long down the road of formalities. He was loyal and good company. Which was probably the two reasons for why he was still alive, she remarked. That and he could do his job.

"What is it?" She asked, worried as their eyes made contact.

Nikkola was horrified. "Arkham's had a break-out."

"What?" She spluttered, confused. "I do not see why you deem this necessary information to rush."

"It's war," the man rushed to explain. "Two Face has taken over Falcone's land at his fresh sprint, whispers say they're set for gunfire tomorrow. Killer Croc has taken up residence of the sewers and Scarecrow is roaming the streets with Mad Hatter."

Croc would make it hard for her people to move around and with a gang war set to wage—

A war that was not hers was too dangerous.

(Or maybe, just _maybe,_ this _was_ the war the voice had spoken of.)

Rachel made a decision:

"We'll drop off the grid, alert all patrols immediately; the Remnants are going silent."

"Yes, my Queen." Nikkola bowed and vanished.


	29. Half Dead, Half Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel's a little scared, a little lost and very angry.

 

The things Conners had injected her with had been given to him by Monook. She had found that out much later, after the man was long dead otherwise he would've suffered _much_ more than he had. Rachel knew of the effects this could have upon her, so that was why she was here. In the labs.

(Certainly not because she'd been feeling faint recently. Nearly passing out when she'd been walking the halls.)

(And assuredly not because it had taken her _six_ _hours_ longer than normalto heal from a broken finger, after she'd fallen on it in training.)

It was like she had that damn sickness once more. Although, blessedly, without the migraines.

(Headaches were a commodity when one leaded.)

"Your Highness," her scientist nodded. The first vial in her hand was a dead beat black gloop; her blood. In the second sloshed a swarmy blue liquid; the result of the separation tests. These two things were what was _in_ her. "I performed the tests as asked and have found your blood contains a shocking amount of antidelectrum."

She raised the vial with blue liquid and something clicked in Rachel's head. Suddenly, she _understood_.

They'd made up antidelectrum, together; the two shots Dr Conners had given her so long ago. Being the two main serums to make the posion, because of course. She knew this, had known this deep down because nothing else could stunt a Talon's healing and the Serum's influence like that shit.

The doctor had babbled on about how he didn't really know what they were. He'd mumbled and grinned when the results had became clear.

He hadn't known because someone else had given him them. Someone with connections inside the old Court, someone with ties. Or someone, _someone,_ that had been _in_ the Court.

Horace.

Horace had set her up for sickness and death so that he could force her into ruling—

The scientist ducked back as she smashed the vial of her blood against the table. She could barely see past the red in her vision, it hurt, everything hurt. It was like a flashback, she could see Horace lunging at her with the injection of the Old Serum in his hands.

He'd known.

He'd _known_ and she had _trusted_ him.

_She had_ _trusted him._

And yet he'd tried to kill you, the voice mumured. It sounded like Red and for the first time in a very long time, Rachel missed her alter ego, as dangerous as she was.

"Will— will this affect me in the future?" She asked, hand aching against the marble of the countertop. She stood up straighter, staring down her worried scientist.

"This kind of antidelectrum is a sample; it was never fully formed, a formula half-complete. The side effects are unknown currently, aside from the known pains and trouble healing that all antidelectrum brings."

Well, she had defintely _had_ trouble healing. Then Horace had given her more of the Old Serum and that had stopped, along with her sickness. Fuelling her body with more chemicals had saved her, _healed_ her.

Perhaps she'd gotten sick thanks to the antidelectrum.

(What was she thinking, of course she had.)

"I'm running a test right now," her scientist went on. "It should give us an idea of what's happening with it and whether or not we'll need to do something—"

A loud ping cut her off.

Rachel stood there, staring at the sickening blue gloop sludging over the table as the scientist peered into the miscroscope. She gasped and Rachel looked up, into wide horrified eyes.

"I think you need to see this, your Highness."

Frowning, she strode over, bending down to peer through the little peep holes. Her mouth opened in shock at what she saw.

The blue molecules, obviously the antidelectrum, were destroying -no, _eating-_ her blackened -because apparently electrum destroyed the creation of hemoglobin, or at least, shortened its levels, and hemoglobin coloured the cells- red blood cells. Her black red blood cells that just happened to carry the electrum— the Old Serum.

The antidelectrum was eating the Old Serum.

It was killing her.

"This could, if left to advance, completely annihilate your Talonated powers," her scientist said, pale. The very thought of her, the Queen, losing her powers and lifeblood to this was sickening. "You'll need to take regular doses of the Old Serum to combat this, to keep the electrum in your system. God forbid should you loose to this."

"How many shots will I need to take?"

Her scientist shook her head. "I'll need to run tests but I'll give you a dose today and you can come back next week to see how fast it eats through it. Satisfactory?"

Rachel nodded, trying to hide her heart thumping fear. "The gods will reward you."

Her scientist smiled, "I wish."

She ended up needing a fresh dose of the Old Serum every two months to stay alive, to keep her powers and not become a boring, regular human that would die once they reached eighty. Rachel was already nearly a quarter of the way there anyway.


	30. Burn The Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((2001.))
> 
> Those who fall don't usually get back up.

 

"Why do you lead us, Rachel?" Nikkola asked, sitting down beside her with a grunt. The noise of the feast washed over them as she took that in, watching her Remnants laugh and talk amongst themselves. It was Passover holiday and with a few of her ones being Jewish everyone was happy to partake in a feast.

"What do you mean?" She asked, staunchly avoiding the lamb on her plate. The man who'd served it, Mudan, a large man in his own right, had been generous in his portions, meaning there was a _lot_ of it to avoid. Rachel sipped at her wine to ignore her imaginary-Alfred's disappointing gaze.

"Surely you are not here of your own benefit, we have been underground for nearly two years, and in that time we have been quiet as mice." The man said. Rachel couldn't detect any intent to steal her crown ( _yet_ ) so she let him speak. "You had Eudarv by your side, yet when he came close to being King, you killed him. Is that not an encumbrance and setback?"

"I froze him," she corrected. "There is a difference there, Nikkola."

"Are you so sure?" he challenged and her walls began rising.

"Death does not come as easily to us as it does humans," she said.

"You did not answer my question," he noted.

"Did I not?" She asked rhetorically. "I froze him, what tactic other than threats could I have dissuaded him with?"

"You could've turned him down, spared his feelings and kept the moral of the Remnants up. You should've but you didn't."

"Are you insinuating a failure in application?"

"I'm implying that you may not be fit for this position." Nikkola said calmly.

Rachel felt a cold, piercing feeling shroud in her gut. It arced up from her core and shot down her legs and through her arms. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed.

She'd kill him. Kill him for even stating such a thing.

"Of course I'm only repeating what the others are saying," the man said in her silence. "This does not mean I too have become upon this conclusion, merely that I worry."

"Eudarv has been supplanted," she answered. "I do not see how I am to fault for his own shortcomings."

"Their postulation is wild, Rachel," Nikkola snarled. "They worry they will be next and when they come to me for guidance I cannot even give my assistance for neither I know."

"If they fear death they are not worthy of the Talon power." Because she tried so hard for it, took shots every two months to keep her lifeline, it was so _unfair_ that these peasants could keep what they did not even _want._

"This is not a power we've been bestowed, Rachel," Nikkola's voice rose over the clatter, people's heads turned in curiosity. "It is a curse, a damnation that has spread from our veins to our hearts. Why should we kill simply because we have the power to?"

A low murmur swept through the congregation of Remnants. Rachel flushed red though she did not know if it was thanks to anger or embarrasment.

"I agree," someone said. A small lady by the name of Delores. "We should have the right of man and be able to make our own decisions."

"Aye," an Irish man shouted, hooting his words in mockery. "The Court's gone, why should we listen to the call of the serum for any longer?"

Rachel had been under the impression all the ones left were loyal fighters, dedicated to the cause. Apparently, she'd been wrong.

So terribly wrong.

Nikkola stood shouting, "All say _aye_ for a new code, a new law of no killing. We can save Gotham, we do not need death nor this woman! Revolt with me and see the light!"

He was creating a rebellion. An usurping. Rachel would not acknowledge this. Disobedience was unacceptable.

Slanderous treachery.

_Treason._

"Sit down," she bellowed as they all stood. They flushed forward like a wave, crashing against the podium of which Nikkola and her sat, banging against it, howling obscenities. "Stop this at once!"

Nikkola smirked at her as the pitch rose. "Seems they really didn't like it."

Nikkola was a nice man. She'd always liked him, being able to laugh and joke around with him occasionally. Who would've thought _he_ would be the one to go against her, to repudiate her.

"You'll be assured to see the light," she growled, eyes stinging with hate. A dagger was thrust through his chest with one forceful shove.

Nikkola's lecherous grin dropped, flopping into a frown as he looked down at the dagger. His hands gripped it for a moment before pulling it out. It dripped green. "What have you done?"

She may not have been happy about his rioting but she'd been prepared for it. Bruce had taught her the paranoia of the Bat well.

"That green substance is poison, the only thing in the world known to kill an Old Serum user." It was antidelectrum. Now it was her turn to grin. The crowd below raged at what was happening, vectoring frantic in their screams. "Too little and it leisurely, if gradually, eats away at the serum; too much and it's instantaneous death."

The former was happening to her. The latter, currently to Nikkola.

"How- How much did—?" Nikkola's eyes had went wide and suddenly Rachel felt misplaced.

The world seemed to dim as Nikkola dropped forward, down onto his knees. Rachel gaped, a horrid shame filling her. She tried to apologise, "I- I'm—"

"Save it," the man gurgled, blood boiling. It surged upwards from his nostrils and ears, pouring out in slobs like hot buttermilk that had curdled. "I'm past this world, lord riddance."

He sighed happily and his eyes grew dimmer each passing second.

Rachel didn't understand why she'd done it. Her stomach doing sommersaults as she thought about it, cradling the dying man in her arms. His blood painted her skin and she wept, forgoing the screams as she shook.

She'd killed him. Killed him over something that all should have; free will.

Maybe it _had_ been a bad idea, all this killing and whatnot.

Now that she looked back, she didn't know why she'd left. Horace had dragged her away but she easily could've gotten up and went back— back _home_.

Why hadn't she?

( _She ducked under a bolted down lab table just as Horace charged, slamming right into the wall. To her horror, the man merely shook himself off like a bull and laughed down at her, peeling the needle from the wall it had embedded itself in._ )

_The serum,_ a voice like Bruce's -strong and sturdy, stout- whispered in her ears. _It dragged you down and you lost even yourself._ She had. She'd lost herself and here she was. Here she was dictating life itself.

( _"He is dead," she said and they all bathed in silence._ )

She didn't want to do that.

She wanted a family, she _had_ a brother back home. She wanted friends, knce upon a time she'd attempted a team but her selfishness had driven her away and one of them was _dead._

( _His lifeless eyes stared at her. No, right through her.)_

Kaldur'ahm had died. Such a kind, loving boy; dead at her fingertips. He was dead because of her arrogance, because of _her._

There was so much blood on her hands. _Too_ much.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, sliding shut his eyelids with shaking fingers.

She cried.

And cried.

And cried.

The Remnants, whom now she peered at, the Remnants who were nothing more than lost souls, clamoured round. Calling for Nikkola. Calling for saviour. Calling for words that would not come from a burnt throat and closed eyelids.

"The Remnants are done," she said, not knowing when she'd stood. She didn't remember doing so. "Nikkola is gone. Go."

Silence held the air in its thick, devastating hold, choking all the oxygen out to replace it with carbon dioxide.

"We- we can leave?" Someone at the back whispered, heard by all in the room.

She nodded. "Yes. Go, live normal lives. Enjoy the life you were never given. Never come back."

They were all New Serums anyway. They'd all die like humans.

"Let us leave," one man nodded in decision, grabbing a candle from the table and dropping it on the cloth. The linen went up almost in slow motion, the flame roaring its way through delicately embroidered patterns, proclaiming freedom.

"Freedom is ours," a woman hooted.

Rachel stood there as they all ran out, stumbling and cheering in their glory.

The Court had burned and it seemed the Remnants would too.

For some reason, she was alright with that. Content with letting a movement she'd spent three years building crumble to dust at the click of a dead man's fingers.

Or, more accurately, letting it fall at a dead man's call.

It was time to go home. It was time to meet her brother properly.

It was time to be a better person, for herself and everyone. Red was gone, the Queen was gone, now Rachel was here.

And she was here to stay this time. No matter what.

She walked out of the hall to the fizzling of the marble reacting to the heat as the wood frames in the room went up.

 

 

Cobb had been put back in his coffin, alongside Eudarv. His horrid grin was stark in contrast against the rugged red of the casket.

She'd been calling them coffins all this time whilst they were caskets.

"Whoops," she said, quite unapologetic as she stuck her tongue out at Cobb. She felt younger than normal, probably thanks to the adrenaline rush that had spurred her emotional responses.

Her eyes were still red and puffy from earlier. She could tell, the ice reflected her reflection back at her almost perfectly.

The Court's abode was burning from the inside out, thanks to that candle and she was making her rounds, shunning the memories of death and spitting in the face of them.

That was why she was here; to say goodbye.

"Years have passed," she still had no clue how Horace had pulled the block of ice from the casket. "And although you are still stuck in the past, I've forgiven. Maybe you should too."

Yeah, that was enough. She needed to save some emotion for an apology to her father, brother and butler. An apology to her family.

"And you, Eudarv." She sighed, tilting her head at his slack expression. At least Cobb had died with a bit of excitement. "Your abs were nice, your personality not."

 

 

And last, but not least, she went to the labs. They were just beginning to see the begins of smoke, rotten and coarse. Everything sat in still silence, eerily dead looking without anyone roaming.

Her scientist had left, long gone.

Rachel sighed in the gloom, skulking forward. She stopped as she reached the furthermost wall from the door, opening up a cupboard that only opened up to her DNA signature.

Bottles, small medicinal ones the size of small drinking cans, lined the shelves. There had to be twenty of them.

Each and every one had three doses of the Old Serum in them.

Lugging her briefcase forward, Rachel set it on the counter and twisted in the code. It opened with a click.

Carefully, one by one, uncaring to the spreading sizzling fire outside, she placed the small, delicate bottles into the case, lining its special paded shelves. Thankful they all fit, so she turned around and pulled up a large floortile.

Rachel peered down, into the darkened space and reached into it. It took her a moment but her tingertips eventually grazed a smal military style lockbox. Grunting, she bent down and pulled it up.

She knew the code to this one too, so she opened it. It whirred open with a cough of dust.

It hadn't been touched in years, after all.

Rachel grinned at its contents.

A small, aging slip of paper that had scrawling cursive scribbled neatly in a corner; the Old Serum formula.

She tucked it safely into a hidden pocket in the briefcase and snapped it shut.

"Goodbye, my Maze."

She left and never returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marble doesn't exactly burn, it has a reaction that turns it into quicklime and the the Co2 in the air turns it back into marble but like, just go with the idea that the fire spreads over it.


	31. Bittersweet Homecoming (The Beginning of A New Age)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wasn't going to lie, she'd heard the whispers. Rachel just hadn't expected for them to be true.

 

Bruce stared darkly into his now cold coffee, listening stoically as reports of something bursting to flames in the sewers had caused an ungoldly amount of smoke to rise from the sewer's manholes. The news was saying it was something like an old fusebox that had sparked and exploded, lighting up some old sewage, which was highly plausible.

But he didn't believe it, meaning Batman would be out there later, patrolling.

Alfred shot him a look, like he knew what he was planning and calmly repeated what he'd been saying for years. "I hope you are aware of how kevlar shrinks, Master Bruce?"

"Of course, Alfred." He said, not really feeling it in him to joke. He hadn't felt it in him since the Manor had fallen into the sickly silence of the years where his mother and father had been dead, a shrewd mirage of death once more. It hurt his chest, tugged at the charred husk of his heart and _squeezed_ so tight Batman had became the only thing he deemed fit of his time.

Because if he didn't drown himself in cases he'd be drowning himself with water and he couldn't to that to Alfred. Maybe when the older man died, but not now.

Not when the butler still subconsciously baked an extra batch of cookies for grabbing hands that were long gone and then cried over them in the dark of night, when Batman was out, punching faces in to get rid of the thumping, aching feeling of _not being good enough_ , of _not being fast enough, you were too slow, too late._

The security gates pinged as they were pushed open but Bruce paid it no heed. It was probably the postman. He was expecting a package from Hal who was currently slumming it out in Africa, for reasons unknown. Bruce wouldn't put anything past him for the Lantern's incentive but he honestly didn't care so he didn't ask.

"Would you like a refill?" Alfred asked, hand no doubt hovering over the coffee pot that steam still rose from.

Bruce flicked to the next news channel, the international one, and listened to how Clark and Diana had saved the president from an assassination purely by 'chance'.

"No thank you, Alfred," he grunted, gulping down the rest of his coffee to stand. The postman would be knocking in a second, if he didn't dawdle, and he could get the door and then slink off to the Cave. The dinosaur's jaw had fallen off the previous night, thanks to the bats stirring and flying into it, breaking one of the hinged latches. He didn't think he'd get any free time out of an hour, if two fixing it.

He nodded to Alfred who seemed forlorn, no doubt at the half-full, half-empty plate he'd left sitting. The butler nodded back anyway, not saying anything.

It took the postman five minutes more than normal to make it to the front door than usual, and even then it usually only took a maxium of ten minutes to walk down the drive.

Bruce had retreated to the chair beside the paintings, picking up one of Jay's books -Hunger Games- and leafing through it. He would've spent hours staring at the boy's handmade bookmark, made from a slither of a cut up Robin cape. But it hurt to look at the fabric, hurt to think of his boy and Robin and his chest burned, the heat was back against his arm and his cape was billowing out in front of him, suddenly lashing back as the shockwave hit him—

A knock on the door startled him from his memories.

Shaking himself mentally, he sighed and stood, striding over to the door and opening it without a second thought.

Bright baby blue eyes that he hadn't seen in years greeted him, matched with a sad but hopeful smile. His baby girl clutched her suitcase handle tighter and appeared to suck in enough air for Clark to put out a hurricane.

"Hey, dad."

Bruce's mind wasn't working. He was ill. He was seeing things.

He had to be.

And yet his mouth opened and closed, he breathed in assuredly _real_ air and ground the flooring under his slippers. It was real, real _, real—_ "Rachel?"

She smiled at him nervously, like he would turn her away. Like she didn't know how his heart had ached for her, like she was unaware of how he'd hoped and hoped and prayed that she'd be alright and possibly, _maybe, hopefully_ come back home whenever she found herself.

"That's me," her voice broke but Bruce was too busy pulling her into a hug at that moment in time. He'd regret this later, scold himself for not checking then double checking that it _was her_ and not some phoney fake but right now he just hugged her tighter. He buried her face into his neck with his hand, rocking them back and forth and smiled, his eyes stinging.

"Rachel, egads I've been so worried about you." He pulled back to hold her at arms length, taking in how she looked older, how she looked like she'd been living it rough with her hair longer and her clothes ratty. He checked her over for injuries and found none. She was slimmer though. Too slim. It reminded him of how he'd first found her, scared, hungry, alone.

He wished—  _hoped_ his daughter hadn't been through that again.

(Later she would sit him down, wipe tears from her eyes and say how much she missed him, how she hurt all over and how she had missed him so, so much. He'd return the sentiment, feeling something other than hate or anger for once, since Jay's death. Instead, he'd feel love for the first time in far too long.)

(Later on, after that by a few weeks, she'd stop him before he went down to the Cave for patrol. She'd look at him and ask to go with him as Nightwing -because Batman needed a partner- and he would agree because her puppy eyes were just _too_ good.)

(A year in, she'll tell him how she needs injections to live, during a particularly bad spell, after she'd pulled the cloak off the Robin costume display in wonderance. He'd hug her and start making the Old Serum in a far off cavern, long sealed off to the world. They wouldn't speak of it again but when she runs out of the bottles more will show up and she'll smile extra bright at him the next morning.)

((He lives for those smiles.))

But for now, he takes in his daughters tired, older appearance and feels worry bloom in his gut like an old friend. "How are you? Are you hurt? Are you hungry? Come in, Alfred will get you—"

Rachel laughed softly, shyly, and shook her head. "I'm fine, B. Really, where's my little bro— I think it's time for a proper introduction, don't you?"

"Jay—" Bruce's voice cracked and he had to swallow. His chest screamed in upheaval. He was surprised she didn't know. Where had she been? "Jason's been dead for a year."

"Oh," she said like her world was crashing down around her. "Oh."


End file.
